Harry Potter and the Crystal Fire
by animagus1369
Summary: By Harry's sixth year, if there really is a DADA curse, it's aimed at the students rather than the professors. Voldemort looms ever larger, but he's competing for screen time wEvans family secrets, old friends, DA, the new junior Order, and Quidditch.
1. Unexpected Developments

Chapter 01: Unexpected Developments  
  
The kitchen was filled with tension. Bill and Charlie sat around the table in the kitchen of Number 12 Grimmauld Place and stared at the girl, who was standing with one hip leaning against the counter, looking back at them calmly. Bill and Charlie, neither of whom had any idea why they had been asked into the kitchen, exchanged an uncertain look and simply waited.  
  
"Is it okay to smoke in here?" the girl asked, and Charlie nodded. The girl walked over to the back wall of the kitchen, tapped a brick with her wand, and a window appeared.  
  
Charlie stared at her, surprised. Bill looked downright shocked. He'd been in and out of Number 12 Grimmauld Place for over a year now, and he'd never known there was a window in the kitchen. Through it, enchanted sunlight-it had to be enchanted; it was raining steadily outside-poured into the kitchen from the back garden, which now appeared to slope down toward the basement kitchen. "How'd you know that was there?" Charlie asked, looking hard at the window.  
  
"It wasn't there," she said with a shrug. "But this place is gloomy as all hell. It needs a little cheer." Turning to the newly-created window, she opened it a crack, then performed a quick, quiet Silencing Charm before lighting a cigarette and beginning to speak.  
  
"I was fairly sure none of you knew about Ron and Percy," she told Bill and Charlie, who both shook their heads; they certainly hadn't known. "So I thought it was best to tell you in person. Heaven only knows whose owls and which Floos are being watched these days."  
  
"I'm glad you came in person. It's not such an easy thing to discuss any other way," Bill said, his tone neutral. "I mean, being as it's about Percy." The great prat, he added silently, and knew Charlie was thinking the same thing.  
  
"I can only imagine," the girl said, with a sympathetic look that made both Percy's brothers feel easier. "It would be difficult enough, without things heating up the way they are. The great prat," she said with something like disgust, and made Bill and Charlie grin. She waved her wand and a blue ashtray shaped like a rabbit appeared on the windowsill, which she tapped ash into carefully before continuing.  
  
"I met Ron in the twins' shop in Diagon Alley," she continued. "I'd just stopped in because I'd met Fred and George earlier in the summer and took a chance that they'd be in. Ron was there, and it was just there in the front of his mind."  
  
"What exactly was there in the front of his mind?" Charlie asked, because he wanted it all spelled out. He'd known Morrigan for a while now, and knew that she was top-notch at her job, but sometimes her mind worked too fast for him to follow. Her arrival had been somewhat confused, as she'd hoped to find his parents there, and she'd got a bit flustered at the sight of Bill, shirtless, who'd only just woken up to get the door. She'd covered it nicely, but Charlie had been too amused at the sight of his normally composed friend drooling over his big brother to pay much attention to what she'd actually said.  
  
"He's been getting owls from Percy," she said, and there was a thunderstruck silence. "Six or seven by now." Bill cursed under his breath, and Charlie scowled. Used to Charlie's fierce-looking scowls, Morrigan didn't take this one personally. "He got the first one during the school year last year, and the others since."  
  
"Did you catch what they said?" Charlie asked when it appeared Bill wasn't going to ask anything yet.  
  
She grinned. Bill, occupied with the fact that Percy was contacting his youngest brother after months of silence, still noticed those bright green eyes and the way they sparkled when she smiled. "Did you doubt it for a moment? I wouldn't be bothering you with it if I couldn't tell you more than that.  
  
"He was really interested in what Ron's career plans are. Had loads of, err, sage advice," she continued. "That, and Percy warned Ron against sticking around Harry too much, as Harry was trouble. Capital T," she said, sounding unwillingly amused.  
  
"The stupid git," Charlie murmured. "What's he butting in for now? Couldn't he have just stayed in his denouncing-the-family stage?"  
  
"Right," Morrigan said drily. "You thought you'd get that lucky?" she asked, and Charlie had to laugh.  
  
"There's more, isn't there?" Bill asked, managing to look away from her. She was a pretty thing, he thought; tall and slim with waist-length copper-colored hair and those big green eyes. She wore faded jeans and leather sandals with a white tank-top under her black robes. From where he sat he could count about six silver hoop earrings in each ear, and sterling silver rings on each finger and at least two of her toes. With an effort, he dragged his attention back to where it belonged.  
  
"It was all jumbled. I'm not a Legilimens. I can only pick up senses of things, and even that I can only do when someone's really upset or worried. It's a bit like a strong intuition, I suppose. But the general idea seemed to be that someone at the Ministry wants Ron on board next summer," she said with a sigh. "At least that's my take. Try as I might, I can't imagine Percy simply offering Ron the chance to work at the Ministry next summer out of the goodness of his heart. My guess is that someone told him his career would take off like a rocket if he could get his little brother to join the ranks."  
  
Bill and Charlie considered this. "Why?" Charlie asked.  
  
Friendly as always, Morrigan rolled her eyes. "Use your head, will you, Charlie? It's a little concept called baiting a trap."  
  
Bill's eyes darkened with instant fury. "Who?" he demanded softly.  
  
"I've no idea," she said, and shrugged. "Like I said, I'm not a Legilimens. But I'll work on it. Mal and I," she amended, "will work on it." She sighed. "We've been out of the office for a while-we're normally in the field. But we'll be in and around London for a while, so I'll check things out. I don't want too many people hearing about it until I can find out more. The more people know we're looking into it, the harder it will be to find anything out."  
  
"Right. But what can we do about it now?" Bill wanted to know.  
  
She smiled at him like he was a student who'd asked the right question and lit another cigarette, then tossed her pack to Charlie, who caught it gratefully. Charlie and Bill each took one, and lit up, grinning.  
  
"Well, at the moment, Tonks and I can see what we can find out from our guys. We know a lot of people at the Ministry, and they know a lot of people. There might be something floating around the office. If there is, we'll find it. We're naturally suspicious bastards," she said, making Charlie laugh.  
  
"You're an Auror, then?" Bill asked, trying hard not to sound incredulous. If he'd ever seen anyone who looked less like an Auror, Bill couldn't remember it. Even Tonks had a sort of toughness about her, underneath the cuteness, a kind of street-smarts that made it obvious she could take care of herself despite her off-the-job clumsiness. Morrigan looked like-Bill thought a moment, trying to be diplomatic, and failed- she'd be helpless against anything more challenging than a drunken House Elf.  
  
"I do my damnedest not to look like one. Hurts the success rate when you walk down the street and everyone can spot you from a mile away." She shrugged, obviously not too concerned about her appearance. "Getting back to Ron, though. The two of you can help out," she said, and her eyes changed in an instant, from laughing to serious. Bill thought that he might have been wrong about her helplessness after all. He wasn't sure he'd want those eyes looking at him the way she was looking at the cigarette in her hand right now. There was something dark and cold in them that suggested she'd learned to fight the hard way. And maybe not always the fair way.  
  
"Talk to Ron," she said, and the brothers looked up at her, startled. They'd been hoping for some important task. Looking at them, she rolled her eyes. "Honestly, you two, he is your brother, why can't you just talk to him?"  
  
"Don't we talk to him every time we see him?" Charlie asked, indignant. "It's not like we neglect him or anything, is it?"  
  
She simply sighed. "You just don't understand." Shaking her head a bit, she blew smoke toward the open window and wished at least one of the two oldest Weasleys had been a girl; then maybe it wouldn't have been so difficult to explain.  
  
Searching for words, Morrigan looked around at the kitchen. "Good Lord is this place ever depressing," she said, frowning at the walls. "Did Sirius really spend ten months cooped up in this place?" she asked Charlie, who nodded although he knew it had been a rhetorical question. "They'd have had to take me to St. Mungo's," she muttered, making Bill grin. "Is the portrait of his old lady still here?" she asked.  
  
"No one can get it off the wall," Charlie said. "We even set Moody on it. No dice."  
  
"Does she still scream at everyone who passes?" Morrigan wanted to know.  
  
Loud shouting from the upstairs hallway answered her question. She grimaced. "Sounds like Moody," she said philosophically as she heard shouted phrases like "One-eyed traitor" and "Misshapen freak of nature" raining down the staircase. She laughed when she heard Moody's reply, a growl of obscenities that was as eloquent as it was coarse. "Yep. Definitely Moody."  
  
Loud thumping footsteps approached from the direction of the staircase. The kitchen door banged open and Moody came in, his wooden leg beating time against the wooden floor. He stopped short when he saw Morrigan. His expression made Bill and Charlie stare at him. If the Wizard who had just walked through the door hadn't been Mad-Eye Moody, they would have described him as beaming.  
  
"Morrigan! Good to see you!" Moody said cheerfully. "As you can tell, the old bat is still here, hanging on the wall."  
  
"Right," Morrigan said drily, walking over to give Moody a hug. "Da says hullo. And Mal should be along sooner or later," she said. Moody's smile, if possible, widened. It was a measure of her toughness, Bill thought, that the rather alarming sight of Moody smiling didn't make her run away screaming.  
  
"So I'm just wondering," Morrigan said to Moody. "Did any of you ever try a Silencing Charm on her?"  
  
The silence was loud and thunderstruck. They'd done everything they could think of to try and dislodge the portrait of Sirius' mother, but no one had ever actually thought of just making her inaudible. Morrigan rolled her eyes and walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs. The men heard "Copper-haired half-breed blood traitor of -" before the shout stopped in mid-stream.  
  
"Oh, she's good," Charlie said with a laugh, shaking his head. "Really, really good."  
  
"Logic," Moody said, turning his frightening smile on Charlie. "The girl's always been logical. And very, very smart. Hell of an Auror, she and her brother both. Some of my last trainees," he added, which explained his glaring pride. Charlie and Bill grinned at Moody, who sat down with a relieved sigh.  
  
"She didn't go to Hogwarts, did she?" Bill asked, thinking he would have remembered her.  
  
"No, she went to Caerdys. It's in Wales. Small school, almost no one's heard of it. Played Seeker, " Moody added. "Wasn't as good as Charlie, but not many are," Moody added, somewhat grudgingly.  
  
"Don't know for sure if I could have beaten her," Charlie said neutrally. Bill wished he hadn't, as this comment only brought Moody's ferocious smile back, brighter than ever.  
  
"Get that ugly eye off of me, would you? I know damned well you're swiveling it toward me," came Morrigan's voice through the closed door, just before she opened it. Moody chuckled, well pleased, and the magical eye sped around to the front of his head just in time to catch Bill and Charlie trying to hide smirks.  
  
"Caerdys," Moody told her. "I was telling the boys why you went to Caerdys."  
  
"Oh, did you tell them about my grandfather the Death Eater, then?" she asked mildly, raising an elegantly arched coppery eyebrow. Her tone was light. Her green eyes, though, were cold and hard, like dark emeralds.  
  
Charlie and Bill stared. She grinned at them and shrugged. "Well, he was on my mother's side, wasn't he? Seems that side of the family runs to nutters now and again," she explained with a laugh. Her eyes, though, were dark and cold.  
  
"Well, Brandon Donovan was a nutter, no doubt," Moody agreed with her. "I don't think it was your mother's entire family," he said, by way of reassuring her.  
  
She laughed, and her eyes cleared. "Well, there are the Muggles," she reminded him. "You know how bad those Muggles are," she added, and Moody chortled.  
  
"She's related, distantly, to the Dursleys," Moody explained to Bill and Charlie, who stared at her, open-mouthed.  
  
"Right, well, only very distantly. My Mum and Harry's Mum were third or fourth cousins. Like you guys and Tonks," she explained when they had no reaction whatsoever.  
  
"Does Harry know you're all related?" Charlie asked, still trying to get his mind around that fact.  
  
Morrigan snorted. "We sent that woman-" Bill and Charlie needed no clarification as to who 'that woman' was; Harry's Aunt Petunia was the stuff of legend around their house-"a letter by Muggle post a month ago, when we were looking through some old stuff of our mother's and found the family tree. Asked her to explain to him and tell him we'd be around for a visit this summer. You tell me if he knows."  
  
"Right. Well, she's not good at following directions, from what we understand," Charlie said helpfully.  
  
Morrigan laughed. "Not good at much," she muttered. "But anyway, we suspected when we didn't hear back from him that she hadn't told him, so we got in touch with Dumbledore. He said that next time we were in from the field we should find Harry and introduce ourselves."  
  
"So how long have you been in the Order," Charlie asked. "You weren't here at the meetings last year."  
  
"We've been in since last Christmas," Morrigan said. "Mind you, that's secret. Wouldn't do for all the members of the Order to be known, would it? So don't go blabbing," she said, the grin on her face indicating she was teasing them. "But we're really pissed to have missed the fight and all," she told them, a shadow seeming to pass over her face as she spoke. Charlie seemed to understand it, and Bill made a mental note to ask his brother all about it when they were alone.  
  
"So what are you doing here if you're supposed to be a big secret?" Moody asked Morrigan.  
  
After a moment, she lit another cigarette and, having met Bill's and Charlie's eyes and got two nods in return, she explained. "Ron's been getting owls from Percy at the Ministry," she told Moody. "And it seems that someone wants him working at the Ministry next summer."  
  
"Baiting a trap," Moody said immediately, and Morrigan nodded; that idea was not new to her. Surprising Bill and Charlie, Moody didn't seem irritated to have been pre-guessed. He seemed, if anything, ready to burst with pride.  
  
"That's my guess," she continued. "We'll work on finding out what we can at the Ministry this week-Mal and I are in from the field for the time being."  
  
"Good. What's the problem, do you think Ron's actually interested in working with that git?" Moody asked her, his tone nearly jovial.  
  
Morrigan laughed. "Not for a moment. But he's at a difficult time, isn't he, and I wanted to talk to these two about how to head off a problem later."  
  
Moody settled down to listen, waving his wand for tea. "Talk away," he told her, obviously not about to move.  
  
Sighing and rolling her eyes, Morrigan settled back against the counter and gathered her thoughts. Her expression that made Moody's gleeful smile return for an alarming moment.  
  
"Look," she said again, blowing smoke at the ceiling. "Like I said, Ron's at a tough time right now." When Bill and Charlie looked skeptical, she rolled her eyes again, to Bill's secret and Moody's not-so-secret amusement. "Do you have a clue?" she asked, a slight edge to her voice, and Bill's amusement faded.  
  
"He's our brother," Charlie pointed out, his tone a bit stiff. "I think we'd know."  
  
"Right." She was clearly unconvinced. "You'd have a clue. When was the last time you really talked to him?" She didn't wait for an answer; that hadn't been her point. "Look," she repeated. "He just got his O.W.L.s back. They're all right, but not good enough for all of the N.E.W.T. classes Harry and Hermione are going to be taking. So they won't be together as much as they were. Harry's probably going to be playing Quidditch again this year, so Ron's going from the guy who saved the Quidditch Cup last year to playing second fiddle to Harry, who plays Quidditch like he was born to do it." She seemed to have quite a bit of information about Hogwarts and what went on there, Bill thought, for someone who hadn't gone there. He wondered what her sources were.  
  
"I don't think you can really understand it, either of you. You're the two oldest. He's the youngest brother of seven kids. And he's always been in someone's shadow. Ron's always wanted to make his own way, and for him, that's probably going to have to wait. If he makes Head Boy next year, he'll be following you," she said, nodding at Bill, "and, well, Percy." Her tone indicated that, in her opinion, following Percy in anything was reason enough to not want to make Head Boy. "If he doesn't, that's been done three times. If he leaves school in the middle of the year, that's been done twice as well. So he's stuck a bit, marking time until he leaves school.  
  
"That's bad enough, but he could get through that if he felt that you guy were interested. But what I'm getting from him is that he feels a bit like a leftover. And he thinks you guys are too busy now to worry about stupid things like what N.E.W.T classes Ron's going to be in."  
  
Bill thought about that, and though it wasn't easy, he got a handle on his resentment. She was right, at least in some ways. He'd never even considered how difficult Ron had it, coming at the end of a line of brothers.  
  
"It's not that it's a big deal now, right?" she asked, seeing Bill's expression change. "But it could get to be one. Because if he starts to feel like.Percy," she finally managed, her dislike evident in her tone, "is the one who really, really cares about what he's going to be doing when he leaves school, he's vulnerable to the trap. And it's easy for you two, given what you're up to these days, to get distracted by things that seem more important."  
  
Bill nodded. It made sense. He didn't have to like the idea of being so distracted by what he was doing for the Order that he all but ignored his younger brother, but given events of the past year, it wasn't out of the question. "So you should talk to him," he told Charlie. "You guys have got Quidditch in common, don't you? From me it would just sound stupid."  
  
Charlie's eyes met Morrigan's, and they both laughed. "Be serious, Bill," Morrigan said softly. "Any one of your brothers, Charlie included, would give their left arm to turn out like you did. Except for that middle one, of course, but I've met him, and I think he was born a prat."  
  
Bill looked at her as though she was mad. "Get out," he said, entirely serious.  
  
She laughed. "I'm serious," she said. "You're the oldest brother. You were Head Boy and managed somehow to pull it off while still remaining cool. You went to work for Gringotts, you're a curse breaker-which, by the way, is keeping with the cool factor-you won't let your Mum cut your hair despite the fact that she's a hard lady to say no to, and you either are or were dating Fleur." Charlie, ready to laugh, looked away, and Bill had no doubt that he was one of Morrigan's many sources of information.  
  
Bill's freckles disappeared under a flood of embarrassed colour. "Were dating," he said. "And I still think you're mad."  
  
She just grinned at him. "Ask Charlie. Hell, ask Fred and George why they left school. Ask Ron who he wants to be like most in the world."  
  
Bill looked at Charlie for support. Charlie just grinned. "Sorry, big brother. She's right. You started the trend. We're doing our best to keep it up."  
  
Bill rolled his eyes. Moody laughed, sounding more amused than he looked. Of course, that happened every time he was amused, given the magical eye and the missing parts of his nose, so it wasn't particularly remarkable. "This is ridiculous," Bill muttered.  
  
"I think both of you should talk to him, at once," Morrigan said, taking pity on him and turning the subject a bit. "But you need to do it in such a way that he doesn't realise that you know about the owls from Percy. If he knows you know about the owls, he's going to think one of two things."  
  
"Yeah, for one he'll think we think he's too much of a git to realise Percy's a prat," Charlie said.  
  
Morrigan grinned. "Exactly."  
  
"What's the other one?" Charlie asked, when she didn't continue. She raised an eyebrow at Bill.  
  
"He'll think we think that the Ministry would never want him except that he's Harry's friend," Bill said after a moment, and got another nod.  
  
"So how the hell do we just randomly start a conversation like that?" Charlie wanted to know.  
  
"Hell, I don't know. Tell him.tell him it's the Weasley brothers career talk. How the hell do I know what would work?" Morrigan asked, clearly exasperated with Charlie.  
  
"We didn't do that for Percy or the twins," Bill thought out loud.  
  
"Well, Percy wouldn't have listened," Charlie pointed out, "and the twins never gave us a chance at it, did they?" He frowned. "You didn't do that for me, you sorry bastard," he told Bill, and they both laughed.  
  
"How does Ron know that?" Morrigan pointed out, and they stopped laughing. "He would have been too young to really remember, wouldn't he?"  
  
"That could work," Bill mused. "It really could."  
  
A knock on the kitchen door had them all turning around. Moody's magical eye slid back, and he gave Morrigan an odd sort of grin. "Come on in, Potter," he said. Bill and Charlie, having had their fill of being told how to handle their relatives, prepared to watch the fun as Morrigan had the tables turned on her.  
  
Harry stormed in the door like a tornado in action, a tall, skinny 16- year old with round wire-rim glasses who hadn't quite started to fill out his lanky frame. He was wearing baggy jeans and a baggy long-sleeved shirt, and if he noticed Bill and Charlie sitting there, he didn't say anything. Nor did he make any mention of Morrigan's presence.  
  
"Is Ron around?" he asked Moody in a tone that could most kindly be described as cranky.  
  
"Haven't seen him," Moody said cheerfully. "Tea?" he asked.  
  
"Oh." Somewhat deflated by the absence of Ron, Harry seemed to slow down a bit. "That'd be good, thanks. Hi Bill. Hi Charlie." He gave them a preoccupied grin and suddenly seemed to notice Morrigan standing near the window. "Hi," he said. "I'm Harry."  
  
She laughed. "Right. I'd guessed that. Should I bow or just treat you like any other Wizard?" she asked lightly, blowing smoke out the window.  
  
Caught off-guard by her casual attitude and the decided lack of staring at his forehead, Harry grinned at her. "Oh, just go for the normal thing. It'd be a nice change," he told her.  
  
"I'm Morrigan Carrick. Nice to meet you," she told him. They shook hands. Bill, watching them both, noticed that they had the same deep green eyes, though Morrigan's were slightly uptilted at the corners.  
  
Harry looked at Morrigan more closely. If he noticed that her eyes looked very much like his own, he said nothing.  
  
"Are you here for a meeting?" Harry asked, because he couldn't think of anything else to say.  
  
"Actually," she answered, her tone casual, "I was here to meet you." It wasn't entirely accurate, but she could hardly tell him the precise reason she'd come. "My brother was coming along as well, but he got delayed. It seems we have a great-great.well, I never remember the exact number of greats, but we have a great-however-many-times grandfather in common."  
  
Harry didn't know anyone else who would have brought up such a subject to him, not as directly as Morrigan Carrick just had. That was enough to have him interested in what she had to say, though he still wasn't sure he trusted her. He avoided looking at Moody, sure that electric blue magical eye would be staring at him in its usual disconcerting manner. That left Bill and Charlie, or Morrigan to look at. His eyes went between the three of them. Bill looked amused but relaxed. Charlie, his mood as friendly as always, was grinning at Morrigan and Bill. Morrigan seemed entirely at home.  
  
Harry thought hard while trying not to appear to be doing so. She'd got inside Grimmauld Place, which meant that she was there by Dumbledore's invitation. And that meant that she was probably an Order member. Moody didn't seem at all suspicious of her, which was unusual in and of itself. In fact, Moody seemed to be enjoying her company, which was stranger still. He decided, for the moment, that if Dumbledore and Moody, and Bill and Charlie, trusted her, he could let down his guard somewhat.  
  
"So you just happened by, and you decided to pop in and say hello?" Harry asked. He hadn't meant his tone to be combative. It just came out that way, the same way so many things coming out of the emptiness inside him had since June. There seemed to be a hole inside him, where Sirius' death had hit hardest, that had filled up with anger during his time with the Dursleys this summer. The anger seemed to come out whenever he failed to consciously try and prevent it.  
  
Morrigan looked at him, amusement in her green eyes. "Hardly, Harry. You'd know as well as anyone here that things at Grimmauld Place don't work that way."  
  
Harry was not amused. "Well, why did you come by, then?" he asked, his tone edging over the line into hostility. Despite his earlier intention to let down his guard somewhat, the anger, like fire, had caught a spark and was fanning itself into a rage.  
  
Morrigan's left eyebrow went up at the edge in his tone. As clearly as if she'd spoken aloud, he read her expression as a suggestion that he take a deep breath and try to calm down. He ignored it. Though his intentions had been good, his anger was melting them away like a candle flame melted wax. "I just thought I'd pop in and say hello," she told him, her tone cooler, somehow conveying disappointment in him. That only made him angrier. What right did she have to be disappointed in him? She didn't know what he'd been through.  
  
"Oh, right," Harry said sarcastically. Bill and Charlie looked at him, surprised. They'd seen him angry-everyone who'd been in or out of Grimmauld Place in the week since he'd arrived had seen him angry. But they'd never heard this tone in his voice. No one but Ron, Hermione, and Dumbledore had ever heard Harry speaking like this, his tone like a newly sharpened knife. Harry could feel their eyes on him, and made an effort to ignore them.  
  
"Well, you didn't seem very interested in the real reason, did you?" Morrigan said, raising both eyebrows at him now. "You just want to score some points. And I'm not interested in playing along with you. You've been through a lot, I'll grant you that. But if you want to be treated like anything but a sulky child, it's high time you learn not to act like one."  
  
Harry's head came up at that, his green eyes blazing into hers. "You don't know anything about it," he told her coldly. He could feel anger, like cold fire, beginning to course through his veins. It pounded in his head, impossible to ignore and even more impossible to control.  
  
"If you say so," she said with a shrug. She turned back to Moody and began discussing something about the Department of Aurors at the Ministry of Magic, completely ignoring Harry. Moody, who didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, asked questions and offered advice as if Harry was no longer in the room.  
  
Harry simply stared at her, unable to believe that she'd dismissed him so easily, and so neatly. And, he realised, so completely. She wasn't looking at him when she thought he wouldn't notice. She had simply stopped noticing him at all. Harry was torn between anger and confusion. Hadn't she wanted to talk to him? Hadn't that been the reason she'd come to Grimmauld Place? What was going on here?  
  
"Er.so, Harry," Charlie said, trying to help him out. "Any news about Quidditch yet?"  
  
Harry, startled, looked at Charlie. "Um, no," he said, fighting to focus on what he was saying. "Umbridge won't be back, of course. But there's been no official word about the ban being lifted." Harry had been banned from playing Quidditch for life by Professor Umbridge, last years' Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Hogwarts High Inquisitor, and, for a month or so, Headmistress of Hogwarts. He was fairly sure that the ban would be lifted now Umbridge was no longer at Hogwarts, but no one had told him so officially yet.  
  
"Doubt you have to worry about that," Charlie said with a shrug. "But your captain's left school, right? And you've lost your Beaters."  
  
"We can only hope," Harry said fervently. The two Beaters who had replaced Fred and George, Charlie's younger twin brothers, had been so awful the team would have been better off without any at all. Charlie grinned along with Harry, noticing that Harry's grin slipped as Morrigan and Moody kept on discussing the Ministry, still not seeming to notice that Harry was even in the room.  
  
"Heard they were pretty awful," Charlie offered, to try to keep Harry's mind on topic.  
  
Harry snorted. "One of them knocked himself out with his own club during practice," he said. Charlie's laughter was genuine on hearing that. The idea of knocking yourself out with your own beater's bat was funny enough. But he'd also seen Morrigan's expression when Harry had spoken. She was listening, all right. She just wasn't going to give Harry the satisfaction of knowing it.  
  
She and Moody finished their conversation, and began walking out of the kitchen. Harry stared after them, dumbfounded.  
  
"Well, Moody, I've got to be getting back to things," she said, and Moody chuckled at her for some reason Harry didn't comprehend. "Bill, nice to meet you. Charlie, good seeing you again. I'll be in touch. I've got to run." Then her eyes, bright and piercing, slid over to Harry. "Unless, that is, you've decided you might want to hear about how the whole thing came about, Harry." Her voice had lost some of its coolness. Harry had no doubt that it would come back in an instant, if he didn't manage to control his anger this time around. "It's your choice," she said with a shrug, waiting for his answer.  
  
"Yeah, I guess I might as well hear it," Harry said. "Why not?"  
  
She seemed to be restraining herself from rolling her eyes with difficulty, and she took her time in answering. As Harry waited for her to decide one way or the other, he fought against the anger he felt rising again. She seemed to be waiting to see whether he would, or could, master it. He struggled for control, the effort showing on his face.  
  
Apparently approving of the fact that he was trying so hard, she walked back into the kitchen, gestured him into a chair, and looked at him. He looked back, doing his best not to glare up at her. With a nod that acknowledged his effort, she leaned against the counter again and gathered her thoughts. 


	2. Explosions and Explanations

Chapter 02: Explosions and Explanations  
  
Seemingly unworried by Harry's darkening expression, Morrigan watched him calmly as she spoke.  
  
"To make a long story short, my brother and I just found out about you a month or so ago. We sent your aunt a letter by Muggle post, not knowing that she was.well, like she was, I suppose. So when we didn't hear back from you, we got in touch with Professor Dumbledore, and he told us that as soon as we got the chance we should go straight to you, as your aunt wasn't particularly reliable as a go-between."  
  
Harry simply stared, shocked. Then the anger started building, as it always seemed to these days. "They told me I didn't have any other family," he said, his face tightening, his eyes starting to blaze.  
  
"I don't think so," Morrigan said mildly. Her words were calm, but her eyes flashed at him, and for a wonder, Harry subsided. "You were told that you didn't have any other blood relatives on your Mum's side. As far as anyone here knew, that was the whole and simple truth. Our Mum's branch of the family scattered to the winds back in the middle of the last century, and lost touch with your Mum's branch, which became almost exclusively Muggle. And our Mum's branch of the family has a few.intermarriages, I suppose you could say, that makes us blood-related only in the strictest sense. Certainly not enough for Dumbledore's Protection Charm to work for you. But our family's connection to you has been hidden from the Wizarding world since before you were born.  
  
"So, as far as blood relatives that were known to Dumbledore until a few weeks ago, Petunia and Dudley are all you've got on your Mum's side. The only other relative on her side who lives here is your uncle, your mother and aunt's adopted brother. Though he's a relative of yours, he's not a blood relative of your Mum's, so he could never have protected you. And he was five years younger than your Mum. I don't believe that Dumbledore even knew of him. He wasn't even on our family tree, at least not until we added him on. It was only Charmed to keep track of blood relatives." She pushed off the counter and walked around the kitchen. Harry watched her, still feeling a bit suspicious. How did she know all this, if Dumbledore didn't know it?  
  
Morrigan continued. If she saw the skeptical look on Harry's face, she chose to ignore it. "Certainly, your aunt has had nothing to do with him since your Mum's death, so you wouldn't have met him through her. You see, your uncle married a Witch. Maybe you'd know their son. Mark Evans?" she asked, and Harry sat back in his chair, completely overwhelmed by the uncharacteristic openness of this conversation about his family. "I think he's starting at Hogwarts this year-he should be eleven about now," Morrigan said, after a moment's thought.  
  
"At any rate, because of the Protection Charm, you were stuck living with Petunia." She shrugged. "Look at it this way, Harry. You learned a really important lesson really fast. Life can suck." She grinned at him and stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray, which had reappeared when she'd lit her cigarette earlier.  
  
Harry, caught by surprise, couldn't do anything but grin at her. "So how did you find out about me?" he asked.  
  
"We were looking through things in our Da's house at the end of June. Doesn't much matter what we were looking for at the time, though I can tell you we got completely distracted and never found it. There was a family tree in a box of my Mum's things, and when we looked through it, we found you on it. You know the rest."  
  
"Your family's from Scotland, then?" Harry asked, pretty sure he remembered her having said something about that.  
  
"Well, sort of," she told him. "Originally my Da's family was from Scotland, but his branch of the family left there for Wales in the fourteen- hundreds. My Mum's family was from Scotland, too, but they've scattered over the last century. My grandparents on my Da's side, though, moved back to Scotland when my Da was small, and he went to Hogwarts. He met our Mum when he was visiting relatives back in Wales, and when they got married, they decided to live in Scotland.  
  
"My brother Malcolm and I were born in Scotland. We've lived with just our Da since we were seven. That's when our Mum died. Death Eaters," she said, and Harry's eyes widened. "When our Da's parents were killed by Death Eaters a few years later, Da moved us back to Wales. Boston," she added when Harry seemed interested. "We lived there and went to Caerdys, then moved back here once we left school."  
  
Harry considered that. "What do you do now?" he asked.  
  
"We're Aurors. We were hired to work on certain cases, because when we were hired, there weren't many jobs available. There was one spot open after we were done with training, and they didn't want to hire one of us and not the other. Alastor was one of the Aurors who trained us," she said, with a nod at Moody, "and he suggested to Amelia Bones-she's the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement-that Mal and I split the position between us, " Morrigan said easily. "It's not normal, but Moody thought that Mal and I work better together than apart. He's hard to argue with, especially when he's complimenting you. Sort of, anyway," she said, aiming a crooked grin at Moody. He gave her a grumbling look, but said nothing. Bill thought he looked embarrassed.  
  
Harry sat at the table, thinking hard. "Was your Dad at school with mine?"  
  
She grinned. "He'd love you for thinking he was young enough to have been," she told him. "He was there with the Weasleys." She laughed, remembering something. "He used to tease your Mum something awful," she told Charlie and Bill. "He always said that the happiest day of her life before your father proposed to her was probably the day he left school."  
  
This was fascinating information, even for Harry, and they all considered it for a respectful interval before moving on.  
  
"You're in the Order, then?" Harry asked.  
  
She grinned. "Malcolm and I both. But that's not for public consumption. We've got to have some secrets, don't we?" Her grin didn't distract from the seriousness of her tone.  
  
Again, shocked by the straightforward way she dealt with questions no one else would have given him a decent answer to, Harry simply stared at her.  
  
"How long have you been back here?" he asked, for lack of anything better to say.  
  
"Well, we left Caerdys seven years ago, and moved straight here. Spent three years in training, and we've been working for four years."  
  
"So you know all about how they pick Aurors.how many N.E.W.T.s did you get?" Harry blurted, then just as quickly said, "forget I asked."  
  
She laughed. "Looking at working for the Ministry?" she asked. Still embarrassed, he nodded. "Just get your marks back?" she asked. He nodded again. "It's no big deal," she told him. "Our tests are different, so they don't really compare to yours. Different name, different subjects, different scoring system. Ours are Basic Levels and Advanced Levels. We only get one mark for each subject instead of two. So it's not quite the same." Harry's expression told her he wasn't going to be satisfied with that. Charlie's eyebrows were raised in curiosity. Bill, either in solidarity with Charlie or in reaction to their earlier conversation, waited for her answer as well.  
  
She sighed. "Most people took 8 or 9 Basic exams out of 13 possible. To get a Basic mark, you have to score 8 or higher out of 10 on the exam." She frowned for a moment, thinking. "Mal and I got marks in all the ones we took. He took 9, I took 10. For Advanced Levels, he took 9 again, and I took 13, and we got marks in all those, too." She shrugged. If she was glad to have wiped the smirks off the Weasley brothers' faces, she didn't show it. She did, however, notice that Harry's face had fallen a bit.  
  
"Of course, we knew when we started school that we wanted to be Aurors, so we studied a lot. It's different when you don't even know what grown-up Wizards actually do, isn't it?" she asked, and Harry grinned, accepting the lifeline she'd thrown to him.  
  
When Moody seemed about to interrupt, Morrigan gave a long-suffering sigh and said, "Merlin's beard, Moody, don't get on him now. Obviously he did fine on his O.W.L.s or he wouldn't have wanted to even discuss my exams He's got some time yet, doesn't he?"  
  
"Not much," Moody grumbled, but subsided.  
  
Harry grinned at Morrigan, his spirits lifting. She was different from most of the of-age Wizards and Witches he knew. She might have been sympathetic for what he'd gone through, she might have felt that he'd dealt with an awful lot in his life so far, but she didn't at all feel sorry for him. She didn't pity him, nor did she let him get away with failing to control his anger. She told him things that other people would have skirted around. Best of all, she hadn't asked him about his O.W.L.s yet, or about school.  
  
"So how did the exams go?" Morrigan asked, and Harry's spirits deflated like she'd performed a Reductor Curse on them. He looked down at the table, missing her biting her lip to stop laughter.  
  
"All right," Harry said, a bit of an edge to his voice. Couldn't she have been different from the other for a little bit longer, anyway? He decided to deal with the Auror-specific courses rather than give her a full report. "Got two Es apiece in Transfiguration and Charms, Os in Defense, and split O and E in Transfiguration and Potions."  
  
She considered that, nodding. "That's solid work," she said, surprising him by the approval in her voice. "You're well on the way, if Auror training is what you want. You'd need to bring up the E's to O's, but you'd know that. Does the Potions look good in that regard?"  
  
Harry sighed. It was answer enough.  
  
"How are you going to bring that up to snuff, then?" Morrigan asked, interested. Looking at her face, Bill thought she was well aware that this was a sore subject, and that she was prodding Harry on purpose. Bill couldn't figure out for the life of him why, but he supposed she had a reason. Remembering the way her eyes had gone cold and hard earlier, he doubted she did anything without a purpose.  
  
"If you think of a way, feel free to let me in on it, will you?" The sharpness in his voice strengthened as he spoke. "Because I've been racking my brains every time I get asked that, and I can't think of anything." He was near to shouting when he'd finished, and looked up from the table to stare at her angrily.  
  
She only raised an eyebrow, her face impassive, her green eyes steady on his. Her voice was mild when she answered him. "I don't suppose you've bothered to ask anyone if they know how you could do it, have you?"  
  
Harry simply stared at her, caught in mid-tirade.  
  
"You know, Harry," she said, not unkindly despite the sudden flash of irritation in her eyes, "unless you grow up and realise that when you need help you've got to ask for it, you're sunk when it comes to Auror training." She looked at him, and had to fight against laughter when he simply stared at her, open-mouthed. "You're drawing flies," she said. His jaw shut with a snap. "That's better."  
  
She waited for him to say something, but he remained silent. She looked, and saw pain, and confusion, and no small amount of grief in his eyes, nearly hidden under a blaze of anger that relieved her somehow. It was good to know that, after all that had happened to him, he could still react like a normal person, even if he was starting to vent his anger on everyone around him.  
  
"Let's take a walk, Potter," she said amiably, and pushed away from the counter. Harry sat there mutinously, determined not to go anywhere with her. It wasn't his fault that Snape wasn't going to let him pass Potions. It wasn't his fault that no one would leave him alone about the whole thing. She raised an eyebrow. "Not wanting to go, are you?" she asked, her tone ever so slightly amused. "Fine. I'll give you one of three choices. One, you go willingly. Two, we can duel for it. Or three, I'll just make you go anyway."  
  
"I can't duel you," Harry bit out, his tone venomous. "I'll have the Ministry down my back, won't I?"  
  
Moody snorted. "Don't worry about that, Potter. I'll take care of it."  
  
Because he trusted Moody, Harry accepted that, and gave in to the frustration and anger that had been swamping him for the last month and a half. "Duel it is, then," he said, and stood. Moody muttered a spell, so softly that Harry couldn't hear the words, pointing his wand at each of the corners of the room in turn. The walls, ceiling, and floor glowed gently. Harry assumed that was to keep the Ministry from noticing whatever magic he would perform.  
  
Interested, Bill waved his wand at the table, making it slide over against the wall. Moody, Charlie, and Bill went over to stand near it, their eyes following Harry and Morrigan into the center of the room. Harry's wand was out, his eyes snapping furiously as he watched her. Morrigan's eyes were calm and clear, even a bit amused, and her wand was nowhere in sight. This only made Harry angrier. Did she think he'd be such an easy target that she didn't need to worry about him? he wondered.  
  
Moody counted to three. Morrigan closed her eyes and held out her hand. Harry's wand, which he'd just begun to wave, flew out of his hand without so much as a word for Morrigan, flying into her left hand, trailing a line of silver sparks after it. Harry stared at her, stunned. Grinning at him, she shook her right arm and her wand slid out of her sleeve. "Right, then," she said cheerfully. "So do you want to come along, or should I float you out of here as if you're as much a stupid git as you're acting?"  
  
Harry's face burned with anger and embarrassment. He considered making her float him along, but since he had a feeling that it would be humiliatingly easy for her, he discarded that idea. He looked around. Moody was looking enormously pleased. Bill and Charlie were looking as shocked as Harry felt. Somehow, that made it better. He shrugged rebelliously, as though he didn't care. "So where are we going, then?" he asked her.  
  
"Oh, out in the garden should do, I'd expect," she said, still cheerful, and headed out the door that had just appeared in the back kitchen wall. She opened it and stepped through, then turned to see if Harry was following. Seeing his look of surprise, directed at the door, she grinned at him. "Well, it's been there all along, hasn't it? You just have to know where to look for it."  
  
As Harry followed her out the door, he heard Moody say to Bill and Charlie, with a distinct note of pride in his voice, "I told you they had a program for people like her at Caerdys." Sighing, he walked into the garden, barely noticing his surroundings; the embarrassment of having been disarmed by a Witch who didn't so much as blink an eyelash while doing it was still running strong. It was worse, he decided, than being disarmed by Malfoy.  
  
*  
  
Moody walked out of the kitchen, looking for their mother, and Charlie and Bill looked at each other.  
  
"How much do you know about that girl?" Bill asked, only half-joking. The sight of her disarming Harry without seeming to expend the slightest effort had unnerved him a bit. Charlie's expression suggested that his reaction hadn't been much different.  
  
"Not much, really, except that Moody, Sirius, and Remus all know her and her brother, that her father works for the Ministry as some kind of investigator, and that Dumbledore has known her and her brother since they were Moody's trainees, and trusts them. Why?" Charlie asked. He was trying to shake the image of Harry's wand flying out of his hand and into Morrigan's but couldn't quite manage it.  
  
"Well, at first I was only asking because of the look in her eyes sometimes," Bill began.  
  
"Oh, you mean the scary look?" Charlie asked, raising his eyebrows. Bill nodded, half-grateful that he hadn't been the only one to see it. "She's always had that, at least since her Mum was killed. Mal-that's her brother-said that they were both there when it happened, in Diagon Alley, and that's when she got that dangerous look about her sometimes. Mal was inside Quality Quidditch Supplies. Mor was outside with her mother. Grabbed her Mum's wand and tried to curse the Death Eaters, from what Mal said. Nearly got herself killed in the process, but she did manage to wing one of them. It was one of her grandfather's buddies," Charlie said grimly. "They caught him trying to drag himself away after she'd put him in a full-body bind. It had started to wear off when the Aurors got there and took him into custody."  
  
"And she was how old then?" Bill asked, not believing it for a second.  
  
"Seven-nearly eight. It was in the Prophet. There were eyewitnesses. It wasn't a good spell, not really. It only lasted five minutes or so. But for a seven-year old with someone else's wand, it was amazing, according to one of the Aurors they interviewed." Charlie shrugged.  
  
Bill was silent. That, he thought, would definitely explain that hard look in her eyes. But it didn't explain the feeling he had that there was more to it than that. He thought that there had been something darker in her eyes, not haunted but haunting. Something a bit frightening, if he were being completely honest with himself.  
  
"So what about the wandless magic?" he finally asked Charlie, who shrugged.  
  
"Don't look at me," Charlie said, shaking his head. "I've never seen anything like that." He grinned. "It was pretty cool, though."  
  
Bill laughed as Moody clumped back into the kitchen, followed by their mother. "It was very cool," he agreed, still laughing as their mother set about heating water for tea.  
  
*  
  
"So. What's the problem, Harry?" Morrigan asked, looking at him with an expression he couldn't read.  
  
He looked at her, clearly disbelieving. "Are you a nutter?" he asked, and his anger flared up again, even hotter than before. "Sirius is dead," he half-shouted at her, then remembered where they were and shut his mouth with a snap.  
  
"No one can hear you," she told him. "Shout all you like."  
  
This, if possible, only made him angrier. "Oh, right. Because you're such a terrific Witch that you can do all this stuff. But it doesn't matter, does it? You're not good enough to bring Sirius back. No one's that good." He stood up and stalked around the brick pathway, stomping up and down narrow lanes overgrown with nasty-looking plants and uncared-for shrubs. "He's gone, and it's my fault-" Harry was completely unaware that he was nearly screaming at her, his hands jabbing at the air to punctuate each word-"and no one can fix it."  
  
She let him go on in this vein for quite a while. He wasn't sure how much time had passed with him ranting and raving before he tripped over a tree root and went sprawling down onto the bricks. All he knew was that, lying there, he felt too tired to even try and get up. Tired, and a little easier in his heart.  
  
Morrigan, who had conjured up a bench to sit on when it became clear that Harry was well on his way to a world-class rant, raised an eyebrow at him. "Right. Got that out of your system, then?" she asked, straight- faced.  
  
Harry threw her a black look. "You know," he said, irritated, "anyone who can prevent a sound escaping the garden or take away my wand without using theirs could have stopped me falling on my face on the bricks."  
  
She grinned. "Yeah, you're probably right. But you know, I figure if you're going to completely lose control of yourself, you deserve to spend at least a little time remembering why it wasn't necessarily a great idea," she told him. Scowling at her, knowing he'd have great bruises later on, Harry got up and walked over to the armchair she'd conjured up for him. He noticed absently that it looked ridiculous, a plush-velvet overstuffed armchair in royal blue in the middle of this weedy, derelict garden, and sat down. He smiled reluctantly once he was settled; it was an incredibly comfortable armchair, really.  
  
Her eyes, as she looked at him, held a world of sympathy, and no small amount of pain. It didn't seem quite right to him, until he remembered the door to the garden, and realised that she'd bee in the Black house before. Probably before it had been used by the Order, since Harry couldn't remember there ever having been a door leading into the garden before.  
  
"Did you know Sirius?" he asked abruptly, leaning forward.  
  
"I did. I met him shortly after he escaped Hogwarts with Buckbeack. But I'd imagine that had more to do with you than with him," she said easily.  
  
Harry's expression darkened again. "What, don't you think he could have escaped on his own?" he asked, angry again.  
  
She sighed, knowing from his expression that he wasn't about to accept any criticism of Sirius. She didn't blame him a bit. It had only been a little more than a month since he'd lost Sirius. It was still too recent. "I knew Sirius hadn't escaped on his own for a couple of reasons. First, he would have lost his wand when they arrested him, wouldn't he?" She waited. Harry nodded. "Second, he ended up riding a stolen Hippogriff to safety. Lets' face it, Harry, Sirius was in a makeshift jail cell. There was no way he could have gotten Buckbeak-who was scheduled to be executed hours before, in any case," she added, her eyes intent on Harry. He shrugged. She laughed, surprising him.  
  
"What I'd give to have been a fly on the wall that night," she said. "Hiding in the Forest, I guess, with an outlaw Hippogriff waiting to break Sirius out of the school." Her laughter was irresistible. Harry started laughing with her. It felt good, after more than a month feeling that he'd be lucky to ever smile again, to let the laughter out. He didn't know when the laughter turned to tears. All he knew was that he wasn't alone in crying, and that Morrigan's arm around his shoulders was one of the most comforting things he'd ever felt.  
  
He lost track of time again, simply leaning against her as the tears ran their course. He felt her fingers tighten on his shoulder in silent comfort and thought he might have seen a silver trail of sparks again. Whether he did or not, he felt suddenly lighter, as if loads and loads of cement had been suddenly dumped off his heart.  
  
"He was very daring, Harry," Morrigan said softly, as he slowly calmed. "That's not always a bad thing. But when it's coupled with the frustration and anger he was holding back at being stuck back here, in the middle of everything he'd learned to loathe, it made him dangerous to himself. And dangerous to you."  
  
She saw Harry's eyes narrow at the implied criticism of his godfather. Bit back a sigh. "Harry, that doesn't make him a terrible person. But it means that his judgment wasn't terrifically good at that particular point in time. And it means that he was that much more likely to have ended up in some kind of fight or another before long, Harry. He was spoiling for action for the last six months of his life."  
  
Harry wasn't ready to get into what had happened at the Ministry of Magic back in June. He had only just started feeling better. He didn't want to go back into the spiral of guilt and grief and fury that had sucked him in at the end of term and refused to let him go over the entire summer holiday.  
  
When it became clear that Harry wasn't going to say anything, Morrigan stood up and started walking toward the back of the garden. After a moment, Harry followed her. He might not feel like talking, but he wasn't entirely averse to listening.  
  
"You should have heard him talking about you," she said with a grin. "Harry this and Harry that and I wonder if Harry's doing all right with old Snape in Potions and did I tell you about Harry and the dragon in the Tri- Wizard Tournament." She laughed, remembering. "He sounded like your Da did after you were born, gushing pride all over the place like a waterfall," she said.  
  
Harry started. "You weren't there when I was born," he protested.  
  
She laughed. "Of course not. Mal and I were eleven, and we were in Wales, at school. But you're not the only one who's had access to other people's memories from time to time." Her voice made it clear that she wasn't going to get into that, but Harry didn't mind, at least not at the moment. The feeling of warmth that had run through him on hearing his father described as gushing pride like a waterfall after Harry's birth was precious, and he intended to fully savor it. There weren't many people, Sirius included who had ever talked much about his parents.  
  
"Did you ever see anything else about my Dad?" he asked.  
  
She laughed. Nodded. When she met his eyes, Harry felt himself relax almost against his will. He saw understanding in her eyes, and wondered if she was reading his mind, like Snape had done. He fought against the calm feeling, because he didn't ever want anyone but himself inside his head again.  
  
"I'm not inside your head," she said with a laugh. "I'm not a Legilimens. Sometimes, if I concentrate, I can sense what you're feeling, if your emotions are particularly strong. Like yours are now," she added. Harry had to reluctantly admit that she was right.  
  
They reached the bottom of the garden and started walking along the wall. Harry saw a fountain built into the wall, and grimaced. It bore a great resemblance to the House Elf heads hanging on the wall in the parlour. A dirty trickle of water spouted from its nose. Harry couldn't decide whether the fountain itself or the spot where the water came from was more disgusting. Morrigan didn't seem to notice it. Maybe, Harry thought, she'd seen it often enough that it didn't bother her anymore. Personally, he couldn't imagine getting used to the sight of the House Elf fountain. When he caught sight of the next fountain, another House Elf, he understood why she hadn't reacted to the first one. This one was far more hideous. And the water came out of its eyes. He tried not to look at the line of fountains ahead of them, and dragged his mind back to Legilimency.  
  
Thinking about what had happened for a moment, Harry realised the difference between what Snape and Morrigan had done. When Snape had entered his mind, there had been a whirling, chaotic stream of images flowing through his head. There hadn't been any question that Snape was deep inside his mind. With Morrigan, however, it was a gentle, peaceful feeling, like floating in a warm sea or hovering on the edge of sleep. He shrugged uneasily, and thought he might have begun to understand Snape's lecture on the difference between Legilimency and mind-reading. At least, he now understood that there were degrees of intrusion.  
  
"You're worried that your Da was a prat." It was fairly obvious to Harry that she'd allowed him time to think the problem out for himself before deciding to continue. She was watching him, as though to make sure that he was ready to go on with the conversation. Harry nodded reluctantly, both to indicate that he was ready to talk again, and to agree with her statement.  
  
"Oh, Harry, you're so much luckier than he was in some ways. You didn't have anything handed to you. You've had to fight for every last thing you've got. And because of that, you understand why the way James used to be was so.wrong," she finally said, and Harry nodded.  
  
"Having everything handed to you on a platter is as bad for you as never getting anything at all," she continued. "Your Da was lucky, wasn't he? He had good friends who taught him what was really important. And your Mum inspired him to change. Don't know if she would have, if she hadn't thought he would be worth it in the end," she said, almost casually.  
  
Harry hadn't thought about this before. He nodded slowly, and let out a relieved breath. He hadn't realised how important it was to hear someone explain a bit more about his father and the way James had been portrayed in Snape's pensieve. It hadn't been that he was fifteen, as Lupin and Sirius had said; Harry wasn't sure they'd known how to answer his question at all. Now he wasn't entirely certain they had really understood what he'd been asking. James had been fifteen, true. But that didn't even come close to easing Harry's mind.  
  
As they walked past ugly fountain after ugly fountain, Harry started noticing other signs of the dubious decorating sense of Sirius' ancestors. He stopped dead on coming face to face with a statue of Grindelwald. Grindelwald, obviously no happier to see Harry than Harry was to see him, aimed a rude gesture in Harry's direction. Morrigan, rolling her eyes, pointed her wand at the statue and said, "Petrificus Totalus," in a bored tone. Grindelwald, who had just completed his gesture and returned his arms to their original position, seemed to freeze.  
  
"They're charmed to move," she explained to Harry. "Nasty things, really. You ought to see him when he's cranky," she said, nodding toward Grindelwald as they moved past him toward the corner of the garden.  
  
Harry saw other statues on their way back up toward the house. All sorts of Dark or dubious Wizards and Witches, recognizable only by the small brass plaques on their pedestals. Morgan le Fay, dark Sorceress and Merlin's enemy; Yardley Platt, the serial goblin-killer; Elspeth Coriander, famous for her work in poisons; Kersley Toombe, a late-18th century proponent of banning magical education for Muggle-born Witches and Wizards; and Salazar Slytherin stood out in his mind. All of them but Slytherin directed comtemptuous glances toward Harry and Morrigan. Absently, Morrigan froze them all in place as she and Harry made their way up the garden. Glancing again at Slytherin, whose features were gathered in an expression of almost regal disdain, Harry thought about his father at age fifteen. He'd seemed more a Slytherin than a Gryffindor then, Harry remembered.  
  
James Potter and Draco Malfoy had actually had quite a bit in common when they had been fifteen, and that was what had troubled Harry most of all. Now he saw that his father had never been tested; had never been forced to grow up; had never been made to see what waited ahead in the adult world. He'd been from a moneyed old Wizarding family and had never had to fight for anything unless he wanted to fight. What, he wondered, had happened to change all that? He was willing to let that go for a while in order to experience the feeling of enormous liberation that sprang from the knowledge that James Potter had overcome a great disadvantage in life to become a great Wizard.  
  
"My Dad," he said, in Morrigan's direction. She looked at him intently. "He was a great Wizard once he grew up, wasn't he?"  
  
"Well, of course he was a great Wizard," Morrigan said, laughing, and broke eye contact with Harry. "Much as Sirius was a great Wizard, and Lupin is, and Mr. Weasley. He was brave, he was strong, he was enormously intelligent, and he understood the value of family and love and compassion. What more could you want?"  
  
In that moment, Harry couldn't think of a thing. Then he looked at Morrigan, questions that had been circling before their eyes had met coming back to the front of his mind. "How did you get my wand?" he asked.  
  
Morrigan grinned. She looked at him mock-critically. "Over your temper, are you? If you're not, you're not getting it back. You're not as strong as your Da was quite yet, but you're well on your way and I don't want to have leeks growing out of my ears or something."  
  
Harry laughed and felt something in his mind break free. He still felt the grief of losing Sirius, still felt fury at Bellatrix and worry over Potions with Snape and a deep concern over how he would manage to keep things straight in his head over the coming school year, but the harshness of the emotions had dissipated. As he took his wand back from Morrigan-his cousin! his mind celebrated-he looked at her. "How did you get my wand?" he asked again.  
  
"Oh, Christ, Mor, you didn't challenge him to a duel?" came a voice, amused and mock-reproving, from the doorway into the kitchen. Harry looked over and saw a tall, muscular young man with Morrigan's copper hair and green eyes walking toward them. The door shut behind him, and Harry heard the click of the lock. Reassured that the yelling and crying hadn't been overheard, Harry looked at him interestedly from where he stood, next to a statue of Libertus Flacke, who Harry was fairly certain had invented a Potion that had something to do with commanding Mountain Trolls.  
  
"I'm Malcolm," the newcomer said, walking across the garden toward them. He had to wind his way around numerous ugly statues, and it was taking him a while to reach Harry and his sister. "Morrigan's older brother."  
  
"By seven minutes," Morrigan whispered scornfully. Harry bit back a grin.  
  
"You should never duel with her. She's a pistol, isn't she?" Malcolm asked. "Good to meet you, Harry Potter. Glad you don't take after your aunt," he said, and Harry lost the battle with laughter. "Or that little git, Dudley."  
  
"Little git, my arse," Morrigan snorted. "He'd make two of you," she said. It was only a slight exaggeration. Malcolm's eyes met Harry's, and they both looked at Morrigan. The three of them started laughing, and Harry felt a connection to them he hadn't felt with anyone before, except with the Weasleys, and that bond was simply not this strong. He felt part of a family. His own family. More importantly, he felt part of a family that had wanted him, had actually come looking for him, who didn't mind telling him the answers to questions that could get awkward. Deciding to test his luck, he looked back at Morrigan, who was still grinning at Malcolm.  
  
"So how well did you know Sirius?" he asked her.  
  
"Why is that important?" she asked curiously. Her huge green eyes seemed to be studying him carefully. He felt a bit awkward. It had been a decidedly personal question.  
  
"Well, I was curious, that's all," Harry said uncomfortably. "He never talked about you to me, that's all."  
  
Malcolm laughed. "Would you expect a grown man to tell his teenaged godson everything about his life?" he asked, which was no answer to Harry's question at all, and they both knew it.  
  
"I guess not. I mean, what's he going to do, say it through the Floo at me?" Harry asked, with a ghost of his former humour.  
  
Morrigan laughed. "Times were, he might have." She smiled, and wished there were a way Harry could have known Sirius in better times. "We- well, I suppose the best way to describe it is to say we were good friends. Like Remus Lupin and I are good friends, or Tonks and I are good friends," she clarified on seeing Harry's expression. "It wasn't like we were dating," she added, just to make sure things were clear on that score. She wasn't sure whether to be amused or insulted when Harry seemed relieved.  
  
"Is that where you got the memories of my Dad? From Sirius?" Harry asked, then shook his head. "No, sorry, that was a bad question."  
  
"There aren't any bad questions," she said, and lit another cigarette. Malcolm joined her. "It's where I got the memories of your Da," she said with a nod.  
  
"People who come back from Azkaban have a hard time relating to the real world again. It takes a lot to survive a place like that, Harry, and even if you manage it, a lot of what makes you human gets lost along the way. He needed to know that someone understood, is all. And as you might have already guessed, it's not particularly easy for the person being read to control what comes through.  
  
"So I know what he was like before Azkaban. Young and strong and fearless and powerful. Not unlike your Da. He was good-looking and he was brave, and there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for a friend." She smiled a bit sadly. "They were two of a kind, in some ways. Inseparable. And when James and your mother got together, even though it was something Sirius couldn't share with them, they never shut him out. He grew to love her like a sister, and she loved him like a brother."  
  
Morrigan paused beside another House Elf water fountain, considered it with an expression of profound disgust, and sighed. Beside her, a statue of a short Wizard with an extremely crooked nose stuck out its tongue. Malcolm took care of it as he approached. He grinned at the statute, which had its tongue still sticking out. Then he shook Harry's hand enthusiastically, and waited for his sister to continue. Harry studied him carefully. He was really tall, at least as tall as Bill Weasley, and like Bill, he wasn't skinny. Harry imagined Ron would grow up to look something like that, if all the food Ron ate ever started to stick to his bones.  
  
"Back to your parents," Morrigan said, drawing Harry's attention back to the conversation. "As soon as they found out you were on the way, they asked him to be your godfather. No one else even entered their minds, because they knew that if anything ever happened to them, he would take care of you like they would have.  
  
"Then they found out that Voldemort was after them, and Dumbledore performed the Fidelius Charm. You'd know all about that?" she half-asked, and Harry nodded. "Well, when Sirius broke out of Azkaban, he was still more animal than human. Every time he transformed back into a human, he felt responsible for Lily and James' deaths. When he remained human, he had to deal with what he saw as his own guilt. I don't know if anyone can appreciate what that does to a person over time. By the time you met him, he'd been torturing himself with what he saw as his own guilt for nearly twelve years. I don't think that he came away from Azkaban fully whole in the mind. Under the circumstances, I don't know if anyone could have.  
  
"Still, when he managed to get out, his first thought was of you. That was the best part of Sirius, Harry; he was intensely loyal to his friends. Even given the amount of guilt he was carrying around inside him, he needed to make sure you were all right. He would have given his life to protect you if he'd found you in need of it. He wanted to transform and tell you who he was and why he'd come, but he was afraid that you'd recognise him from the news and run. He was also afraid of putting you in danger by association.  
  
"So he went to Hogwarts, following you, to get to Pettigrew. As I'm sure you know, he felt that the only way he could even try to atone for what he considered his responsibility for your parents' deaths was to kill Pettigrew, who was truly responsible. So he went to Hogwarts, and found Lupin there, and eventually got Pettigrew. You'd know that story, of course." She smiled. Harry smiled back. He found that he was almost able to ignore the House Elf spouting rusty water from its ears, hanging on the garden wall beside Morrigan's elbow.  
  
"The hardest thing Sirius ever did in his life, save one thing, was to let Pettigrew live because you'd asked. But the hardest thing, overall, was to leave you and run. Sirius wasn't a man who would ever have run from a fight before. Before he'd met you, he would have cheerfully faced down whoever came his way in order to clear his name, or he would have died trying. But he did meet you, and after that his only priority became keeping you safe. He couldn't have done that if he'd taken on the entire Ministry, so he ran, and did his best to keep an eye on you, and to be there if you needed him.  
  
"Malcolm and I met him when we were working out of the country that summer. He'd known our Da, and he lied out both sides of his mouth pretending he remembered us as well." This seemed to amuse Morrigan for some reason. "I think he felt disloyal to our Da not remembering a couple of 10-year olds who hadn't even been around much as they were busy in Quality Quidditch Supplies in Diagon Alley. But that was Sirius for you.  
  
"Small wonder that, when he heard that you were at the Department of Mysteries, he ignored all advice to the contrary and headed there with everyone else.  
  
"You saw him there. You know how happy he was to be doing something, anything, to help the Order and to help you. He went out like a hero, Harry, and that's the way he would have liked it. He went down fighting for what he believed in and protecting you.  
  
Malcolm, leaning against the statue of Libertus Flacke, took over the where Morrigan had left off. Clearly, Harry thought, they had both known Sirius well. "See, Harry, here's the thing. When Pettigrew betrayed your parents, what he really did as far as it involved Sirius, was save Sirius to die another day. Sirius as Secret-Keeper for your parents would have died before betraying them. And that's what it would have come to, because as you know Sirius wasn't someone who would have been able to hide away for long. Voldemort would have known that Sirius was James and Lily's friend, and he would have come looking for Sirius. Or, if things had worked out the way Sirius had planned, Pettigrew would have kept the secret and Voldemort would have come looking for Sirius. In either event, Sirius would have been killed to make sure the secret was kept."  
  
"I just don't understand why he wanted to switch as Secret-Keeper," Harry burst out, coming out of the half-trance the Carricks' tale had lulled him into and recoiling when he realized he was leaning against a House Elf statue that was staring at him, its mashed-looking face pressed against his hip.  
  
"If it had worked out as planned, it would have been a stroke of inspired brilliance," Malcolm said softly, seeing his sister's fatigue and the emotions barely hidden behind her eyes. "Pettigrew was the kind of." he paused, obviously deciding that the word he'd originally planned on wasn't entirely appropriate, "git," he substituted, looking dissatisfied, "who would have been ecstatic to hide out with his friends until after Voldemort had disappeared from the face of the earth, and longer if he could. There couldn't be a better Secret-Keeper than that, unless it's Dumbledore, who's quite simply too powerful to need to hide out."  
  
The door from the kitchen opened, and Moody beckoned them inside. "Ron's here, Harry. You can talk more later. Give the girl a rest."  
  
Harry looked at Morrigan and realised what Malcolm had a few moments before. She was drained from the effort of reliving Sirius' memories. His eyes went wide with apology. She waved it away with a tired smile. "You needed to hear it, Harry. It's fine. We'll see you at dinner then, right?"  
  
Harry nodded and ran into the house, his expression newly light. Grinning at each other-who would have been able to prevent it, watching Harry, knowing what he'd been through this past year-the Carrick twins headed into the house for the Order's next meeting. 


	3. Plans in the Making

Chapter 03: Plans in the Making  
  
Malcolm opened the door into the kitchen and let Morrigan walk in first. The members of the Order who had been able to make the meeting all turned and grinned at her. She automatically looked behind her. Malcolm was there, the question in his deep green eyes mirroring the question in her own. They shrugged at each other and took places leaning against the counter by the new window. Molly Weasley beamed at them, and they smiled back, identical polite smiles that told everyone they had no idea what was going on.  
  
"Oh, Harry's so much.happier," Molly said, wiping a stray tear from the corner of her eye. Charlie, sitting beside his mother, patted her arm comfortingly, and she beamed at him, too. "He ran through here as though he didn't have a care in the world."  
  
Morrigan, who still looked fatigued, smiled more naturally. "Step in the right direction," she said softly.  
  
"He's a good kid. Hell of a wizard he's going to be once he gets a little more training under his belt," Malcolm said, and Molly beamed at him as well. He grinned back, leaned against the counter next to his sister, and they waited for the meeting to begin.  
  
"How did he end up here, though? I thought he would have been with the Muggles this summer, because of the Charm," Morrigan half-asked, frowning slightly. "And how is it that we still have use of this house?" Her question, obviously carefully worded to avoid direct mention of Sirius and his death, was answered with silence for a long few minutes.  
  
"Harry was with the Dursleys until a week ago." The voice came from near the fireplace, and as they all turned toward the ancient stone hearth, the figure of an old Wizard appeared beside it, blinking into view as soon as everyone's eyes were directed toward the fireplace. Albus Dumbledore, smiling at all of them, conjured up an easy chair-yellow, with orange flowers-and sat down, still beaming. "His aunt and uncle will be taking his cousin on vacation to Majorca this week, and they were going to leave him with Mrs. Figg. Although Arabella is a worthy lady, she can't protect Harry as well as we can here. Hogwarts would be even better, but school is not in session, and we aren't as prepared to handle things from there. Here, we can always make sure that someone is around to keep an eye on things." Dumbledore chuckled.  
  
"As far as the house goes," Remus Lupin added, when it became clear that Dumbledore had finished speaking, "it was left in our care, so to speak, until Harry's of age. Harry wanted us to keep using it for Headquarters, as it's convenient and otherwise it would be vacant." Morrigan nodded. She understood without needing it spelled out for her that Sirius had willed the house to Harry. She knew that Remus, in his current state, avoided mentioning Sirius' name whenever possible. He had lost the two friends closest to him in the world, both indirectly because of Peter Pettigrew. It had been difficult to keep Remus from going after Pettigrew on his own after what had happened at the Ministry in June. She didn't want to reopen Remus' wounds by asking any further questions.  
  
"A bit of a legacy, then," Morrigan said, and Lupin nodded with a sad smile. "Good place for all the kids to be together for a bit, at any rate," she said. This drew another smile from Molly Weasley. Morrigan smiled back, then looked at Dumbledore with an eyebrow half-raised. Bill saw Dumbledore give Morrigan a slight nod, and leaned back in his chair in time to see Morrigan ever-so-casually point her wand at the door and mouth the words for the Imperturbable Charm. Charlie, who had caught the action as well, grinned at Bill. They obviously weren't alone in knowing that Fred and George weren't the only troublemakers in the Weasley family.  
  
"So he's here for the rest of the summer. There's a guard on, is there?" Malcolm asked.  
  
Kingsley Shacklebolt, his smooth, dark head shining in the enchanted sunlight pouring in the window from the garden nodded and gave the Carricks a short description of the way things at Grimmauld Place were being run this summer. "Molly's usually here-she runs things at the house, and thank Merlin for it. None of the rest of us is what you'd call talented at keeping things together like she does." Molly Weasley blushed. Charlie gave her another pat on the arm. "The rest of us," Kingsley continued, "are in and out, but we're here as often as we can be. No one wants to take any chances after what happened in June."  
  
"So why are you two suddenly here, after six months of carefully staying away?" Tonks wanted to know. Morrigan grinned at her, silently admiring the newly electric blue hair. Tonks grinned back at her friend.  
  
"Well," Malcolm said, "we're back in the office for a while. Fudge," he said, and his face and Morrigan's took on identical expressions of dislike, "has been recalling people back to base, so to speak. But we held out as long as we could without looking suspicious. There's a lot going on out there that no one seems able to explain."  
  
The entire room suddenly got very quiet, and Moody, Kingsley, and Tonks all leaned forward attentively. "You found out something about the new policy on bringing in prisoners?" Kingsley asked, eyes intent.  
  
"It's more that we couldn't find out anything," Morrigan explained. "After we heard from you about the new policy, Tonks, we started looking for information. We've talked to O'Malley, Ralston, Whiting, Tunstall, Aarons, Gallagher, Dawlish, and MacInnes. No one's heard anything at all. And if anyone should have heard the reasons behind the switch, they should have. Now Moody's retired, they're the most senior members of the Department. And they've heard nothing." Morrigan looked around and saw various levels of understanding on the faces around the room, and backtracked.  
  
Her eyes, Bill saw, took on that cold, hard look whenever she mentioned Cornelius Fudge. She explained, "Last week, Fudge started calling people back into the office from our Department, and as soon as they got there, he sent them each a memo. Long story short, all prisoners going to Azkaban are now to go straight to the Ministry, to be handed over to Ministry officials."  
  
"Not to the Dementors?" Fred asked, from where he and George were leaning against the ancient dresser that held plates and cutlery. "Whose job is to guard and transport prisoners? Something big is up, then. There must not be any Dementors left with the Ministry."  
  
"Exactly," Morrigan said with a nod. "I mean, to be fair, Fudge did announce in June that the Dementors had revolted. But he didn't exactly make it clear that all of them revolted, or where their loyalties had probably been transferred. Until last week, prisoners were still going to Azkaban. But there wasn't any corresponding memo about who was guarding the prisoners then, and there isn't one now. So no one knows why the changes were made."  
  
"They've left Azkaban," George said slowly. "All of them. If there were any left at Azkaban, they'd be being kept pretty busy shuttling the prisoners around. It's not like you can tell one from the other, so they'd use the remaining ones as often as they could to keep up appearances, wouldn't they? They've got to be gone."  
  
"It's the only reason we can think of that the policy has changed so radically and so suddenly," Malcolm agreed. He pretended not to notice Molly and Arthur Weasley looking surreptitiously at their twins, as though they'd never seen them before. "So we held out on going into the office as long as we could, in hopes that we could track down a Death Eater or two and take them to Azkaban, to find out what's going on."  
  
Morrigan nodded. "Unless we'd actually been in to the office, we wouldn't have known about Fudge's new policy, right? But the last owl we got was starting to sound a bit impatient, and we didn't want to stay out any longer. People would have started to ask questions we don't want asked. Still, it's pretty indicative of the situation that they were willing to pull us off Douglas Marshall in order to come into the Ministry, isn't it?"  
  
"Marshall," Tonks said, frowning. "We've been after him since Voldemort disappeared back in '81. You were after him, then? He's important. Killed so many Wizards and Muggles I can't even remember the total." She nearly knocked over her teacup, righting it only at the last moment. Charlie grinned at her.  
  
"A total of thirty Wizards and Muggles," Moody offered, scowling. "And they pulled you off the case when you had a lead on him?" he asked, incredulous.  
  
"Another day or two might have done it," Morrigan said with a nod. "But if he's where we thought he was, he's not going anywhere soon. So we came back in. At the moment, one Death Eater who's still underground isn't as important as finding out what's going on with Azkaban."  
  
"If no one at the Ministry's talking, we're not likely to find anything out, are we?" asked Hestia Jones, frowning.  
  
"Well, that depends," Malcolm answered, his eyes meeting Morrigan's for a moment before he received the tiniest of nods. "It's dangerous at the moment to seem to be asking too many questions at the Ministry. Fudge is hyper-sensitive to what he considers any failure to do what he says when he says it. With the major public reversal he had to put into motion last month, he's tightening down.  
  
"He's very uncertain these days, and he's trying to keep everyone together and behind him. Which he has to do, considering the political position he's suddenly in. So trying to find too much out through normal channels is going to jeopardize everything we're trying to do. The more questions people ask about us, the less likely we are to be able to work within the system."  
  
Morrigan nodded. "We considered trying to get an appointment with him and trying to read the situation, so to speak," she said, and Dumbledore chuckled. "But we've never really met with him, nor would we have any reason to. So it would send up a big red flag. It's not likely that anyone here could manage it without making him suspicious. That's as easy these days, from what we hear, as getting him to hide his head in the sand was last year," she added. Several people, Arthur Weasley included, nodded agreement.  
  
"So we know what we can't do," Bill summarized. "What can we do?"  
  
He watched her as she considered her reply. Her eyes had that serious, almost dangerous look again, but this time it was deeper, hidden behind her calm expression. This, he decided, was a Witch who didn't mess around when it came to getting things done. Despite his questions concerning what had taught her to fight so hard and so fiercely, he had to admit that he was interested in her. She was casual and fierce by turns, though to the casual observer, she was simply easygoing. She was very good at hiding her stubborn side, if you didn't watch her eyes. "We can go to Azkaban and find out," Morrigan said simply.  
  
The storm of protests replying to that statement was immediate and would have gone on far longer had Dumbledore not cleared his throat loudly. "How would you go about that?" he asked, as calmly and politely as if he were asking the Carricks to tea. His blue eyes, though, were intent on them both, his expression grave.  
  
"When we're in the office, our weekends are usually somewhat freer. So if we go somewhere this weekend, no one will ask any questions. Even if we're in the field, we can manage it, though the timing will be tighter," Malcolm said.  
  
"Impossible," Moody said, scowling, his magical eye and his good eye glaring at the twins.  
  
"Hardly," Morrigan answered, not intimidated in the slightest. "It's actually very possible, and the best way we have of getting any conclusive information. First, we've been there before. No one here but you has ever been there and really knows the layout of the place, Moody, or how it works. No one, that is, but Malcolm and I. We've been there quite a few times, and we know what we're likely to run into. If things are working like they should be at the prison, we can be there and gone before anyone knows it. If things aren't working as they should be, we know what to be careful of when we take a look around.  
  
"Let's face it. It won't take long to figure things out," she said. "Either we show up and there are some Dementors there, or some sort of guard, or we show up and it's deserted. I don't think there are any other realistic options."  
  
"It's still incredibly dangerous for the two of you. And what is it really going to tell us?" Hestia Jones asked. "Besides the obvious, of course." She frowned at the Carricks, clearly against the plan.  
  
"Well, if every single Dementor has revolted and is gone from Azkaban," Fred put in, "then who's guarding the prisoners? We've got four Aurors in the room, and they're obviously not being asked to work guard duty."  
  
"And we've got how many other people who work at the Ministry here," George continued. "If they're not guarding anyone either, then who is? And if no one is, where are they?"  
  
"Exactly," Morrigan said, grinning at Fred and George, who grinned back at her. "Put simply, if the prisoners aren't in Azkaban and the Dementors aren't guarding them, we've got enormous problems.  
  
"First of all, it likely means that what Draco Malfoy told Harry at end of term is correct, that things are more serious than the Ministry has implied, and that all of the Dementors have gone over to Voldemort's side. Second, it means that it's very unlikely that the Death Eaters from the Ministry attack last month are still in custody." She moved to the window and lit another cigarette, using her wand to make the smoke disappear. Molly Weasley, who'd been about to protest, settled back, somewhat mollified but still disapproving. When Charlie went over to borrow a cigarette, her lips thinned even more, but she remained silent.  
  
"And third, it means that if the prisoners are still in custody somewhere, Fudge is up to something, isn't he?" Bill asked. Malcolm and Morrigan nodded. The rest of the room fell silent again, digesting that.  
  
"Right. If they're being held somewhere, they're being guarded somehow. And if we're not doing the guarding, Fudge has got something significant up his sleeve, doesn't he?" Morrigan asked. This time, no one could mistake the look in her eyes. She clearly found Fudge a bigger threat than most of the Order considered him to be, and the cold cast to her green eyes suggested that Fudge would do well to keep on the up-and-up, or out of her way.  
  
"So if we need to go to Azkaban," Moody said, and from his tone it was clear that he wasn't conceding the need, nor did he want the Carricks to make the trip, "we need to work out a plan. Which means you'll be here every night working on it with me," he told the twins.  
  
Morrigan grinned. "You didn't think we'd make some crazy plan without the craziest one of all involved in it, did you?"  
  
The members of the Order present at the meeting were treated to the uncharacteristic, and frankly frightening, occurrence of Moody laughing heartily. Not a few flinched as his magical eye spun with mirth.  
  
Morrigan looked at Dumbledore. "Do you think we should, then?" she asked, and after a pause and a heavy sigh, Albus Dumbledore nodded. Morrigan nodded, seeming satisfied rather than apprehensive. Malcolm's expression was similar. It seemed the subject was closed.  
  
"So you're related to Harry," Molly Weasley began, and everyone in the room again turned toward the twins. Remus Lupin, who until now had remained silent in his corner, gave both twins a smile. They smiled back at him. He'd been the one to point them toward Dumbledore as the best means of contacting Harry.  
  
"We are. Our mother and his were third cousins. We share a great- great-great grandfather, Douglas Malcolm," Malcolm said, bringing grins from almost everyone in the room as he had to count the number of greats on his fingers. He laughed at himself, and went on. "Douglas had two daughters. One married a Wizard and moved to Wales. That was our great- great grandmother, Angela. Angela married a Donovan, and their descendants were all Wizards or Witches." Malcolm shrugged.  
  
"The other daughter, Susannah, married a Muggle and stayed in England; that was Harry's great-great grandmother. She became Susannah Evans when she married, and her descendants, until Lily and Harry, were all Muggles," Morrigan added. "Though there's always been a hint of magic about the family. There's Elven blood back beyond Douglas Malcolm, and even the Muggles-well, some of them, anyway-have a bit of talent at wandless magic."  
  
"Harry's related to House Elves?" Fred asked, clearly amused. He wasn't the only one.  
  
"High Elves, not House Elves. You probably haven't heard of them. They don't have anything to do with humans, especially Wizards. They're not hostile, like Centaurs, but they have taken pains over the centuries to keep their world entirely separate from the Wizarding world. You wouldn't see them on any Ministry lists," Morrigan said with a laugh.  
  
Seeing that this didn't clear up the question, she went on. "There are basically three different kinds of Elves. High Elves, Common Elves, and Lower Elves. House Elves belong to the Lower Elves. Their main duties are to serve. Middles Elves are more like humans, and don't have much magic. The High Elves have the most powerful magic of the three, and they consider it their duty to.hmm. I suppose you could say that their duties are to safeguard nature. They live in remote mountain areas or deeply forested areas, and they use their magic to tend to nature-plants and animals and all that."  
  
"You know an awful lot about them, considering they're not on any lists," Fred pointed out skeptically.  
  
"Our grandmother is a Sylvan Elf, which is a High Elf from an Elven forest. She married a Wizard, and left the forest for a time." Malcolm grinned at Fred's surprise. "It happens from time to time. It's fairly rare."  
  
"She married your Death Eater grandfather?" Charlie asked, drawing all eyes to himself, then to the Carricks again.  
  
"She did," Morrigan confirmed, then grinned. "Talk about a culture shock. Straight from living with the Elves to living with one of the world's biggest gits." She shook her head. "Getting back to your question, Mrs. Weasley, she's the reason we never knew about Harry. Shortly after marrying our grandfather she realized that he wasn't the man she'd thought he was, and she took steps to protect her family from him.  
  
"When our Mum was born, it was already clear that our grandfather was attracted to the Darker side of magic. When our Mum married our Da, our grandmother took them both aside and explained the situation to them. When our parents found out we were on the way, they moved from Wales to Scotland, where we were born. My grandmother performed a charm, something like a Fidelius," she said, her eyes meeting Dumbledore's, "to hide any knowledge of us from her husband."  
  
"Sounds like he must have been a great guy," George muttered, making Morrigan laugh.  
  
"You're not joking," she said, making him grin. "In any event, shortly after we were born, our Donovan grandfather declared himself openly in favor of Voldemort. And when Harry was born, my grandmother got a message from her father explaining that he'd read ominous signs in the stars. The two of them worked out a family tree, and discovered that we were related to Harry. And that Harry was in danger. They both assumed that he was in danger from my grandfather.  
  
"To protect Harry from discovery, my grandmother re-cast her charm to include Harry's family. Unfortunately, our grandfather was only one avenue to finding and attacking Harry's family, as she found out after Voldemort killed Harry's parents and disappeared after failing to kill Harry, too. That same night, our grandfather disappeared.  
  
"High Elves tend to look at things in the long view, and she never believed that Voldemort wouldn't return. She also knew her husband well enough to know that while he might have disappeared, he wasn't gone. So she made sure that her charm held.  
  
"We found out about Harry last month, when we were going through some of our mother's old things at our Da's house in Inverness. The charm our grandmother had cast was only intended to hide Harry from our grandfather and his.err.colleagues, never from us. Last month we found the family tree our grandmother and great-grandfather had worked out when Harry was born. When we did, we sent a letter by Muggle post to Petunia Dursley. Who was, needless to say, less than no help at all. Once we discovered that she hadn't told Harry about us, we went to Remus," Morrigan said, nodding toward Lupin, "who directed us to Dumbledore, who told us to go straight to Harry."  
  
"And Harry knows about you?" Arthur Weasley asked, sounding absolutely fascinated. "I mean, that you're related?"  
  
"He does," Malcolm said. No one in the kitchen, though, had really doubted it. They'd seen Harry's face when he'd run through the room on his way to find Ron and Hermione.  
  
It seemed that, for the moment, the Order was satisfied by what they'd heard. The conversation moved on to other topics. Various members of the Order gave reports on what they'd managed to learn as far as the Death Eaters they'd been surreptitiously tracking. It would have been more appropriate to say that they report what they hadn't managed to learn. Former Death Eaters everywhere were disappearing, going underground. In light of the Order's suspicions about Azkaban, this information was more alarming than not. Anyone who hadn't been certain about the potential benefit of the Carricks making the trip to Azkaban had become more open to the possibility after all reports were in.  
  
Dumbledore adjourned the meeting within an hour, to allow people to get back to work. The meeting had been scheduled for the lunch hour both to allow Order members to attend, and to make their absence from work for an hour unsuspicious. Soon after the meeting was over, he made his way over to the Carricks and carried on a low, quick conversation with them. Morrigan asked him a question. He thought for a long moment, drawing the attention of the Weasleys who hadn't left for work yet and of Remus Lupin. After a while, Dumbledore nodded at her, and made his way back to Vanish his chair and head back to Hogwarts. Lupin Disapparated shortly afterward, frowning thoughtfully.  
  
Fred and George made their way over to the Carricks, their mother still watching them as though she'd only just seen them for the first time. "So we're still up for the Wands on Friday night, right? Your friends' band is going to be playing?" Fred asked Morrigan.  
  
"They'll be there, and so will we. Probably not as is, though. Dumbledore thinks, and we agree, that it's not a great idea for us to be seen in public with other members of the Order. So we'll be there, but in disguise," Malcolm answered.  
  
"You're like Tonks, then?" George asked, looking deeply impressed.  
  
"No one's like Tonks when it comes to disguises," Morrigan said. "It's just a simple Transfiguration." Fred and George still looked impressed, making her laugh. Bill and Charlie were equally impressed. Self- transfiguration was an incredibly difficult branch of magic. Neither of the Carricks seemed to be aware of this, if their expressions were any indication.  
  
"Hell, if it's that easy, you should go all the way and become an Animagus," Fred said, grinning.  
  
"Did we say we weren't?" Malcolm asked, one eyebrow raised. The twins looked surprised, then thoughtful. Morrigan laughed. Neither she nor Malcolm was an Animagus, registered or otherwise. Malcolm had learned over the past few weeks, though, that the Weasley twins were not as sophisticated as they liked to pretend-were, in fact, a bit gullible-and he loved keeping them guessing.  
  
"So, we're working on something for Harry and the others to take back to school, to get in touch with us," Morrigan told Fred and George. "We'll probably need some help with it, so we'll be in touch with you, as it's in your line of expertise."  
  
"Right. Well, you know where to find us, don't you?" Fred asked, grinning. The four of them laughed. "Just stop on by. We'll do what we can."  
  
"Sounds like a plan," Morrigan said, nodding. "Probably next week, then." They said good-bye, and Fred and George Disapparated with loud bangs that had the Carricks wincing.  
  
"A bit loud, aren't they?" Charlie asked, grinning.  
  
"Stealthy they're not-at least not on the transportation front," Morrigan agreed cheerfully. "But Merlin knows they've got their strengths, and they know how to take advantage of them. Have you seen that shop? It's packed day in and day out. I shudder to think what the lines are going to be like once start-of-term shopping starts."  
  
"You're not joking," Charlie laughed. "Good thing they really don't mind working hard when it's something they like to do."  
  
"Right. I'd imagine their storeroom is packed to the brim and beyond, if what George was saying earlier was any indication," Morrigan said, and removed the Imperturbable Charm from the kitchen door while Molly Weasley was out of the room.  
  
"Good move earlier. I'm sure that Ron and Ginny still have Fred and George's original Extendable Ears," Bill said with a laugh.  
  
"I wouldn't doubt it for a second. Fred and George were showing me one this morning that doesn't have to be held to your ear, and disappears when someone comes along who might see it. The idea gives me nightmares, at least as far as this place is concerned. It might have its uses in other places, though," she said, thoughtfully.  
  
"Listen, while your Mum is out of the room. We talked to Dumbledore about a way to keep Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and their friends informed, without making them part of the Order. Everyone is still dead-set against allowing any under-age Witches or Wizards into the Order, and much as I sympathize with Harry and the others, I fully agree with that.  
  
"Problem is, they're the ones most at risk. They're the ones who always end up in the fight. So we need a way of getting them information that doesn't conflict with what the Order's up to. We're thinking of kind of a junior Order, or whatever anyone wants to call it. Along the lines of what they're doing with D.A., if they keep that up. But not quite as many people."  
  
"Makes sense to me. Count me in," Bill said, nodding. Charlie seconded his older brother's opinion. "They're too in the dark as it is, and if we can keep them informed, they'll find fewer ways to get in trouble, won't they?"  
  
Malcolm laughed. "Well, that's the way Dumbledore thinks of it. I doubt, though, that they'll avoid getting into trouble just because they know a bit more about what's going on. What would be the fun of that?" he asked. Morrigan laughed, obviously in agreement. Charlie and Bill looked at the Carricks, then at each other.  
  
"Lord, Bill, they're as bad as Fred and George, aren't they?"  
  
"Actually," Morrigan said, as she and Malcolm moved toward the kitchen door, "Fred and George are strictly amateurs."  
  
Looking a bit unnerved by that assessment, Bill and Charlie watched the twins leave the room and head upstairs to talk to Harry.  
  
*  
  
Having discovered that the kitchen door had been Imperturbed, Harry and the others had drawn up the Extendable Ears philosophically and retreated to Ron and Harry's bedroom on the second floor of the house. Ginny and Hermione sitting on one bed, Ron and Harry on the other. Hermione, Ron, and Harry held pieces of parchment in their hands. Ginny snorted impatiently and the others started a bit, then traded letters. Ron and Harry looked at Hermione's O.W.L. results, and blinked at her in disbelief.  
  
"Sixteen O.W.L.s," Harry said, stunned. "Sixteen, Hermione! That's really good," he said. And insane, he added silently. "Congratulations," he added out loud, so that she didn't notice the pause after his words. Ron nodded.  
  
"Sixteen," Ginny said slowly, clearly impressed.  
  
Ron simply stared at Hermione, incapable of speech, then managed, "And all O's." He managed to make that statement sound like a compliment despite the barely veiled horror in his eyes. Hermione beamed, blushing slightly, either ignoring or simply missing the look on Ron's face.  
  
"One Outstanding in Ancient Runes, two in Arithmancy, for the theory and the practical. Two in Astronomy, two in Charms, two in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Two in Herbology. One in History of Magic. Two in Potions. Two in Transfiguration." Harry looked up at Hermione, who was clearly torn between being pleased and being embarrassed.  
  
"Oh, look, Ron," Hermione said, looking down at Ron's letter. "You got eight." This was, apparently, news to Ginny, who looked impressed again, despite herself. "Two E's in Astronomy, two in Charms, two in Defense, one in Herbology. And one in Transfiguration," she said, beaming at Ron. Ron's ears turned as red as a sunset. "That's loads better than you'd expected," Hermione said, approvingly, "and it's terrific, in Transfiguration, isn't it?"  
  
Ron grinned, and looked at Harry's. His grin widened as he looked at Harry's results. "Ten, Harry, that's great. An E in Astronomy, one in Charms, two O's in Defense-no big surprise there," he muttered, "and one O, one E in Potions, Transfiguration, and Herbology." He gave Harry a mock- pitying look. "Think they made a mistake on the History of Magic, then?" Ron asked. Harry snorted.  
  
"Right," Harry said, laughing, because he hadn't even answered half of the questions on the History of Magic exam before falling asleep in the middle of the test, "about as big a mistake as they made on the Divination marks," he added. Harry didn't have to make as much of an effort as usual to forget the dream of Sirius being tortured by Lord Voldemort that had forced him out of the exam. He and Ron got to laughing so hard that they nearly fell off the bed. Hermione did her best to look disapproving; they'd failed their Divination O.W.L. so badly they might as well have not taken the exam at all. Their laughter, however, was irresistible. It was, she thought, as though they had momentarily forgotten what had happened at the Ministry in June. Relief had her laughing nearly as hard as Ron, Harry, and Ginny.  
  
"Meeting's over," Harry said, hearing voices downstairs, coming up from the kitchen. The others stopped laughing quickly, untangling the Extendable Ears again and letting them loose. There was, at first, only a collection of voices, none talking about anything remotely interesting-a meeting at work, someone's children, Hestia Jones' new job at the Ministry. Then, when the sound of the front door opening and closing, and locks turning, announced the departure of most of the Order members, the Ears began to pick up other voices.  
  
Harry recognized the Carricks' voices and Ron's oldest brothers' as well. He looked at his friends. They stared back, eyes wide as they heard the Carricks, Bill, and Charlie talking about beginning a sort of junior Order, so that Harry and the others could be informed about the dangers they seemed inevitably to face when they were at Hogwarts.  
  
"Oh, now that would be nice," Ron commented, even as the others shushed him so that they could hear more clearly. It wasn't that they didn't agree with him wholeheartedly. It was simply that he spoke too loudly for them to hear anything through the Ears at this distance. When the kitchen door opened and closed, though, they all stared at one another, the beginnings of smiles on their faces. Finally, someone understood and was willing to help them.  
  
The Extendable Ears had just been returned to various pockets and drawers when they heard footsteps on the stairs. Harry had the uncomfortable thought that the sound was purposely loud, then forgot it with the knock on the door.  
  
"Do you really want to start a junior Order?" was Ron's question, which he could barely contain until the Carricks had been invited in and the door had shut behind them.  
  
"Extendable Ears are working well, I see," Morrigan said drily, and Ron turned red to the roots of his hair. Malcolm grinned. Morrigan laughed. "Well, be certain to let Fred and George know they're still good after all this time." She grinned at Harry, who grinned back.  
  
"You'd be Hermione," Morrigan guessed, turning to a girl about six inches shorter than Harry with thick brown hair and books piled around her on the bed. "And you'd be Ginny," Morrigan continued, grinning at a girl with Weasley-red hair and bright brown eyes. The girls nodded. "I'm Morrigan Carrick, and this is my brother Malcolm. Cousins of Harry's," she added casually as they all shook hands. "Ron, you hadn't met Mal yet. Mal's been asking me questions about Hogwarts Quidditch I couldn't answer, not being a Keeper myself. You'll have to fill him in, if you don't mind."  
  
Harry and the two girls grinned as Ron looked as though he'd been handed a sack full of galleons. Ginny moved over on the bed to make room for Morrigan, and Harry scooted over on the other bed so Malcolm could sit down between Harry and Ron. Morrigan pointed her wand at the door and spoke a Silencing Charm.  
  
"Why does your wand put out silver sparks? I've never seen a Silencing Charm that's silvery," Hermione said curiously.  
  
"Oh, right, normally it would be blue, wouldn't it?" Morrigan asked. "But my magic works a bit differently, I suppose, so all my spells come out silver. It's just always been that way. Doesn't matter what wand I use or anything, it just does it."  
  
"Cool," was Ron's opinion of this, and Harry nodded.  
  
"Well, it can be cool. But when you're the only one whose wand sparks silver, it's kind of a dead giveaway," Morrigan pointed out, and they had to agree with her.  
  
"Da always told her it was the Elven blood thing," Malcolm said, and every eye in the room, save his sister's, was on him in a flash. Not having seen anything strange about his statement, he didn't even notice until Harry cleared his throat. Then he looked up and saw four pairs of eyes on him intently. "What?" he asked, looking surprised.  
  
"Mal, don't be a git. You know damned well almost no one has ever heard of High Elves. They're thinking we're related to Kreacher or something." Morrigan was having a hard time holding back her laughter.  
  
"Oh, right," Malcolm said, the twinkle in his green eyes giving him away. "High Elves, not House Elves. High Elves aren't on the Ministry lists, so I doubt you'd have heard of them. Long story short, House Elves are the lowest order of Elves. High Elves are the highest order. They stick to themselves and they've spent centuries avoiding most humans. We have High Elf blood on both sides of our families, and it comes out more strongly in some people than others. Mor got a strong dose, I got a weaker one." For which he was grateful. Elf blood carried as many disadvantages for humans as it did advantages.  
  
"And that's what makes your wand spark silver?" Hermione asked, frowning intently.  
  
"Elven magic is different than Wizard magic. Elves don't use wands, and elves don't use spells the way Wizards do. The best our Da could figure was that the way the Elven blood and Wizard blood mix together makes doing ordinary Wizard magic a bit different." Morrigan shrugged. "Works just as well as the colored sparks, though, so I'm not complaining."  
  
Hermione grinned. They looked over as Charlie and Bill appeared in the doorway and walked through. As they passed through the Charm, their outlines grew silvery for the briefest of moments, then they were inside the room and the doorway was transparent once again.  
  
"Looks cooler in the dark," was Malcolm's only comment, and Ron and Harry laughed. "So what do you think about another Order?" he asked. Knowing they hadn't missed anything important, Charlie and Bill took seats on the room's only two chairs.  
  
"I like the idea," Hermione said, surprising her friends. "I mean, we need as much information as we can get, don't we? And it's hard to get the kind of information we need when we're at school. I mean, if we had more information we could manage to work things out before they become crises, couldn't we?"  
  
"Well, when you're lucky that's the way it works, anyway," Morrigan said. "Hard to be lucky all the time. But we're," she began, indicating Charlie and Bill as well as herself and Malcolm, "of the opinion that the more information we can get you, the better.  
  
"That doesn't mean that we'll be letting you in on everything. Professor Dumbledore has made it clear that while you're to get more information, you won't be getting all of it. He's of the opinion that you need to know more, but that you have enough to worry about without being involved in the day-to-day business of the Order. And he's right," she added. "You've got school to worry about, and you're not of age. No one's going to be in favor of you getting into dangerous situations when you can only use magic to defend yourselves." Harry, who had looked about to protest before her last statement, subsided with a sigh. He knew she was right. He didn't have to like it.  
  
"So we're working on a way for you to get in touch with us without using the Floo or owls. No telling what's being watched these days, or by whom. We'll be getting help from Fred and George on that, and we should have it by the time you all are ready to go back to school. Let us worry about that," Morrigan continued, and got nods and relieved grins in return.  
  
"What about the junior Order thing, though?" Ron wanted to know. "It wouldn't make sense to have everyone in D.A. in the Order, too. Too many people, too many risks."  
  
"You're absolutely right," Malcolm said, nodding. Ron looked enormously pleased by this, though he tried hard not to show it. "Obviously it wouldn't make sense for us to tell you who to invite. But it would make sense for you to discuss it together, then talk to us. We might know something that could help, if you're wavering on anyone."  
  
"Well, the four of us, of course," Harry said, nodding at Hermione, Ginny, and Ron. "And Neville, definitely."  
  
"And Luna," Ron added. "She helped out an awful lot at the Min.in June," he amended quickly, carefully not looking at Harry.  
  
"And we can always add more later on, can't we?" Hermione asked, clearly not meaning it as a question. "I mean, six is a good start for now. It's manageable."  
  
"You wouldn't really need to meet all that often," Bill added, "so it wouldn't get in the way of school or Quidditch or even D.A."  
  
"D.A.'s going to be harder to manage this year, though," Harry said a bit glumly. "We're running out of things we know how to do, and it's not so easy to learn the more advanced things out of books. I mean, we can study up on hexes and things, but that's not going to help us actually practice things."  
  
"Well, you might find it easier than you're expecting," Morrigan said. "You don't think that, now Professor Dumbledore's back, it will need to be as secret, or as difficult to ask for help, do you?"  
  
Harry brightened at this. He hadn't really thought about it. "You don't think a teacher would take it over, do you?" he asked, not liking the idea of having the leadership of D.A. taken away from him after he'd managed it for almost an entire school year.  
  
"I don't know why they'd want to, since you already have a Defense class," Morrigan said reasonably. "But maybe you could have kind of an unofficial adviser or something. You'll have to work that out."  
  
"Yeah, that's great," Ron said, then his face fell. "So all we have to do is worry about making it through Potions-I mean, Ron and Hermione have to worry about it, I'm not going to be in N.E.W.T. potions, so I'm never going to make Auror."  
  
Morrigan grinned. "Well, Mr. Weasley, your moments of self-pity are over. Because Mal or I will be tutoring Potions until you go back to school, and you're in the class. An hour or two a day, weekdays, until you go back. Professor Dumbledore is working on something for the school year, and I don't think you'll be left out there, either. So you actually have the best of it, don't you? You get to take the Potions N.E.W.T. and you don't have to see Professor Snape in class."  
  
The effect this had on Ron was nearly pathetic to see; Bill and Charlie realized that Ron's O.W.L. marks had bothered him far more than he'd let on. Realizing that he still had a shot at Auror, and that he could still share Potions with Harry and Hermione, cheered him up so much he was nearly dancing. Charlie looked at Bill. Bill looked at Charlie. They both nodded. Ron's career talk would be coming as soon as they could corner him without it looking suspicious. Bill wondered how many other things Ron had gotten good at hiding over the years. He fully intended to find out.  
  
"You don't have to go back to work?" Ron asked Bill, looking strangely hopeful.  
  
"Not today. Had a half-day coming, so I took it," Bill explained.  
  
"And you don't have to go back to work?" Harry asked the Carricks. They shook their heads. "Because the garden is pretty big, really," Harry continued. "We could play Quidditch."  
  
"Hermione? You up for Quidditch?" Morrigan asked.  
  
Hermione laughed, shaking her head. "I'll keep score, thanks."  
  
"That would make the teams uneven," Malcolm said, shaking his head. "No score-keeping allowed. You need to be our Chaser," he said decisively. Hermione, who normally would have avoided playing at any cost, was not proof against the sparkle in those green eyes. She nodded. Ron whooped happily, and he and Harry dug around for their brooms. Ginny and Hermione went to go get theirs, and Bill and Charlie, after some mock-sighing, Disapparated home to get their own broomsticks. The Carrick twins did the same, and met the others in the kitchen, looking for the doorway out to the garden.  
  
"Tenth brick up from the floor, tenth brick from the left," Morrigan told Harry. As his eyes focused on the correct brick, the door appeared in the back wall of the kitchen, just as it had earlier. "Just have to know where to look," she said cheerfully, and Harry opened the door.  
  
After they'd all gone through to the outside, Morrigan sighed. "This just won't work for Quidditch," she said, and Ron's and Harry's faces fell. Even Hermione looked a bit disappointed. After a straight week of rain, they'd been looking forward to getting outside.  
  
Morrigan slid her wand out of the sleeve of her robes and considered a moment. She shook her head and put the wand back. Disappointed, Harry and his friends turned to go back inside. "Don't want to play anymore?" she asked. They turned back around, and gasped. The weed-choked, derelict garden with its crumbling brick pathways and crooked trees was gone. In its place was a lawn of emerald green, about 100 feet long and 50 feet wide, with a set of three hoops at either end. "Watch for the ceiling," she warned. The ceiling, about fifty feet up, went from enchanted sunny sky to black almost before she'd spoken, which made the ceiling far easier to see, as it was now different from the enchanted sunny-sky walls. Somehow, the sunlight was still there, filtering gently through the dark ceiling, as bright as ever. Harry and Ron mounted their brooms and kicked off, followed quickly by Ginny.  
  
Hermione was looking a bit uncomfortable. "I'm not that good a flyer," she confessed softly to Morrigan, so that no one else could hear. "I tried and tried, but I never seemed to get the hang of it."  
  
"Let's see, then," Morrigan said, and watched as Hermione flew her broom in an unsteady circle. When Hermione had touched down again, Morrigan was grinning. "Well, if you don't let the broom know who's boss, you won't fly it much steadier. Just think of it as.hmmm," she said, thinking a moment.  
  
"Think of it as Fred and George testing their products on unsuspecting first years," Charlie suggested. "You've got to take charge. That's all."  
  
Morrigan nodded, grinning. She'd heard the story of the twins testing their wares on the first years from Fred and George themselves. She pointed her wand at Hermione's broom and said, "Noncadero." The silver sparks surrounded the broom for a moment and Hermione looked at Morrigan questioningly. "Keeps you from falling off until you're the one in charge," Morrigan said simply. "It won't last long, but it's easier to get the hang of bossing your broom around if you know you're not going to be drinking any Boneset anytime soon."  
  
Grinning, Hermione kicked off from the ground, and before long was zooming along with Harry, Ron, and Ginny at the opposite end of the garden.  
  
"You're a fraud. There's no such spell," Charlie said, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Not for Wizards, anyway," Morrigan said simply. "But I'm not going to go around doing all sorts of wandless magic and give them any ideas, am I?"  
  
"You did it with the garden," Bill pointed out.  
  
Morrigan grinned. "Caught that, did you? As long as they think I did it with my wand while their backs were turned, that's good enough."  
  
Laughing, the two oldest Weasley brothers and the two Carricks mounted their brooms and kicked off from the ground. Charlie conjured a Quaffle, and the game began.  
  
***  
  
Unable to sleep, Harry wandered downstairs around midnight. Everyone else in the house was sound asleep, and though his body was tired, his mind was racing. He'd decided to get something to eat, still too used to living with the Dursleys not to take advantage of the opportunity to eat whenever he was hungry. He walked into the kitchen, and found Morrigan and Malcolm sitting at the kitchen table, playing Wizard's Chess.  
  
"Pull up a chair, Harry," Malcolm invited. Harry got himself butterbeer and a leftover piece of pie from dessert, and sat down at the table as Morrigan's queen moved into place and Malcolm's king fell over, shattering into a dozen pieces of what looked like ivory against the dark wood of the table. "Oh, come on," Malcolm complained. "Never saw that coming. So we're even, then?" he asked his sister, who nodded. "One more," he said, and waved his wand at the chess set, which reordered itself on the board, the pieces restored to their original condition. "What's up, then?" Malcolm asked, grinning at him.  
  
Harry grinned back. "Couldn't sleep. There's too much floating around in my head," he said with a sigh. "Everyone else is asleep or gone home," he said.  
  
"They'll do that to you, late at night," Morrigan told him. Harry laughed.  
  
"So about the junior Order thing," he said. Two wands pointed at the kitchen door, and two voices said, 'Silencio!' in unison.  
  
"Sorry. It was suggested that perhaps some people in the house wouldn't be crazy about the idea," Morrigan said by way of explanation. "Go ahead. You were saying?"  
  
"Well, how would it work? I mean, you can't tell us stuff about the real Order, because of the Fidelius Charm. So what can you really tell us? Is it just a way to shut us up?" Harry watched as one of Morrigan's pawns struggled melodramatically with one of Malcolm's pawns, finally knocking Malcolm's pawn out of the way and giving a victorious little hop.  
  
Morrigan laughed, unable to help herself. Then she looked at Harry. "It's not just a way to shut you up. Harry, keeping all of you too much in the dark last year ended in catastrophe. Everyone is aware of that," she said, and Harry didn't even have time to feel the guilt he always felt when he remembered what had happened at the Ministry last month. "And as we were saying earlier, it's not your fault, or any one person's fault. But having made the mistake, we all have to work on making sure we don't repeat it. So, though it goes against the grain for most of us, we're going to let you in on more of what's going on."  
  
"How does it go against the grain?" Harry asked, a little irritated.  
  
"Harry, you're not of age. And you mean a lot to a lot of people. Of course it goes against the grain to give you information that might put you in danger. Don't be stupid," Morrigan told him, her voice gentle to take the sting out of her words. "You can only do magic to defend yourself. By that time, it could be too late. You know that. You've been in enough situations over the last five years to understand it." One of Malcolm's pawns took one of Morrigan's, and spun in a triumphant circle before settling back onto the board.  
  
"Well, it's still stupid. I mean, I'm the one who gets stuck trying to kill Voldemort. Why should anyone have a problem telling me stuff that can help me do that?"  
  
"Harry, you're being obtuse. And feeling sorry for yourself, though I can't really blame you," Morrigan said with a sigh. Harry scowled. "You're the one who gets stuck trying to kill Voldemort. That's a given. And it isn't fair, because you're too young to carry that kind of burden. Nevertheless, it was given to you, and it's yours to either drop or carry, as you choose." At the look of shock on his face, she smiled and shook her head sadly.  
  
"You're the one Voldemort marked as his equal, the only one who can kill him," Malcolm explained. "That doesn't mean you have to try. It means you have the choice. Try or not. It speaks volumes about you that you never considered just chucking it all and walking away. No one can force you to take it up."  
  
"But then he'd win," Harry protested.  
  
"Sure," Malcolm agreed. "And again, it says a lot about you that the thought of him winning makes you take the difficult path. No one says it to you, but they're well aware of the weight you're carrying around. Problem is, it's as difficult for them to acknowledge it as it is for you to carry it around in the first place. No one wants to think that a sixteen-year old boy has to shoulder that kind of burden, Harry. But given the circumstances, they don't have much choice but to accept it."  
  
"So I could just walk," Harry mused. His eyes moved to the chessboard, noted without interest that Morrigan was winning at the moment, then slid back up to meet hers.  
  
"You could. But that's a choice that carries consequences, too. You know what would happen if he won. You know what would happen to your friends if he won. And what would happen to you. You have to weigh that against the cost to you if you fight."  
  
"Wise advice that should have been given to him long ago," came a voice from behind them. Albus Dumbledore stood near the fireplace, smiling sadly at Harry. "And not so long ago as well," he added.  
  
Harry shrugged. "Doesn't much matter, I suppose," he said slowly. "I can't just walk away. You knew that," he said, his eyes on Morrigan slightly accusing.  
  
"I suspected it," she corrected him. "But sometimes, even though the choice is hard, it's easier to accept knowing you made a choice to begin with."  
  
Harry thought about that for a bit, then decided to file it away for future consideration. He looked over as Dumbledore sat down and Morrigan and Malcolm lit cigarettes. "I still don't see how it's possible that anyone could let us in on stuff the Order's doing without breaking the Fidelius Charm," he told Dumbledore, frowning a bit as he tried to work it out.  
  
"They couldn't," Dumbledore said simply. "But they can tell you what they've found out, as long as it's not discussed in the Order first." He watched as one of Malcolm's knights fell to Morrigan's bishop with soft but dramatic groans, smiled, and looked up at Harry.  
  
Harry's frown didn't disappear. "But how can we be sure that it'll stay safe?" he asked.  
  
"Another Charm," Morrigan explained, and Dumbledore nodded. "It won't be a Fidelius. I'm not Albus Dumbledore. I can't perform a Fidelius and have the energy left over at the end of the day to do a whole lot else." Dumbledore's slight nod was agreement enough for Harry to believe it. "But I can work a similar charm. Elven magic," she explained. "It works differently. When a Wizard performs magic, the power for the magic comes from the Wizard. That's why you have to be powerful to produce a Patronus, for example-at least if you're going to expect it to help protect you against something awful. Not everyone can produce a Patronus, especially in a crisis. A Fidelius is even more tiring, over time. The Elven version, for me, is somewhat easier. And a Secrecy Charm has the additional benefit of going on even if something happens to the Secret- Keeper."  
  
Harry decided not to think about that. Having just found two cousins he'd never known existed, he wasn't going to think about losing them just yet. Morrigan watched the emotions play across Harry's face, sympathy in her eyes. Every time Harry came to a point where he had a grip on things, yet another punch was thrown. And the hell of it was that there was no way to really protect him from the punches. He just had to make it from one to the next as best as he could.  
  
"So you'd work the Charm, and you'd be the Secret-Keeper?" he asked. Morrigan nodded. "Is that safe?" he asked.  
  
"As safe as it gets," Malcolm said. "None of the rest of us is accomplished enough at wandless magic to even try it. And Morrigan is as trustworthy as you can get." He said it simply, without trying to convince Harry. Harry considered that. He remembered that she'd been honest with him even when it wasn't comfortable, earlier today, in the garden. He remembered her honest assessment of Sirius' actions, and the pain in her eyes that had told Harry that it had hurt her to be so candid about Sirius' failings when she'd just lost him, too. He didn't think that Sirius, who'd been on the run and in danger of his life, would have befriended her if he'd sensed anything at all untrustworthy about Morrigan. And, Harry thought, she hadn't turned Sirius in. She'd been an Auror, she'd met a man wanted by the Ministry, and she hadn't taken him back to Azkaban.  
  
Finally, Harry nodded. "So how do we go about setting it up?" he asked.  
  
Malcolm looked at him closely. "You're not just trying to get out of Potions tomorrow, are you?" he asked.  
  
Harry laughed. "We'd need a headquarters, wouldn't we?" he asked. "We couldn't meet here, or at school."  
  
Morrigan and Malcolm grinned at each other. They looked at Dumbledore, and Dumbledore grinned back. "We're working on that," Morrigan said. "I think you'll be pleasantly surprised."  
  
Deciding that it was easier to trust them than to try and figure out what they were thinking-they were worse, in some ways than Fred and George-Harry nodded. As Dumbledore and the Carrick twins discussed procedures and rules for the junior Order, he began to yawn. By the time they'd gotten to discussing communications between the junior Order members, Harry was sound asleep, his head on the table. Dumbledore took his leave, Malcolm carried Harry back upstairs to bed, and Morrigan got down to work. She and Malcolm, on unofficial guard duty that night, stayed up discussing security and communications between the junior Order members until Molly Weasley made her sleepy way into the kitchen to start breakfast the next morning.  
  
"Coffee, dears?" Molly asked, wondering how on earth the twins could look so alert after having spent all night on guard and the previous day engaged in Order business and a rather fierce-looking game of Quidditch.  
  
"Oh, that would be lovely," Morrigan said, gratefully. "We got to talking and never even noticed the time. We've about time for a quick cup, then we're off to work," she said cheerfully.  
  
"You'll be exhausted in no time," Molly said, half-severely.  
  
"We'll manage," Malcolm said, smiling. "It's desk work for the next four days. We're luckier than your husband-it's when we're out of the office that our days get truly crazy."  
  
Molly smiled and sent three mugs floating over to the table. "He has his days, true enough," she admitted, then sighed. "More often than not, these days."  
  
Morrigan nodded. "I wonder if people realize just how difficult he has it," she said thoughtfully. "He's got to hold his entire Department together, make Fudge believe that he's following the company line, so to speak, and work for the Order on the sly. It's no wonder your children turned out as well as they did, with the two of you as parents."  
  
Molly's face darkened, and her eyes showed the pain that she rarely admitted to anyone. "All but one," she said sadly.  
  
"Oh, he's dedicated enough, isn't he?" Morrigan asked. "Granted, he's taken a different path, but he's young, and ambitious, and he hasn't really been tested. His vision's a bit shuttered now. He's new to the Ministry, new to the real world, really. And it's easy enough to make mistakes when you're starting out. But Mrs. Weasley, I've met all of your children. You and your husband did an amazing job teaching them what's really important. There's still hope for Percy yet. He hasn't arrived at the real crossroads yet, has he?"  
  
The door opened, and Arthur Weasley, looking tired and angry, walked into the kitchen. "He's passed the crossroads and gone down the wrong road," he said with uncharacteristic curtness. Apprehension flickered in Molly Weasley's eyes, along with grief.  
  
Morrigan appeared to consider that. "He's missed a turn or two, true," she said, "but he's still got more than a few opportunities to find the right road." She seemed, Molly thought, to be speaking from personal experience rather than about Percy, who she didn't know well at all. "We're not quite at the final turning, are we?"  
  
Sitting down at the table, a mug of coffee floating over to sit in front of him, Arthur Weasley mulled that idea over. He sighed heavily, the anger melting off of his face. "I surely hope not," he said. "I surely do."  
  
"Don't we all," Morrigan said, her tone comforting. "Speaking of which," she added, on a brighter note, "Charlie mentioned something yesterday about Daniel Carey wanting in on the Order."  
  
Arthur Weasley's face brightened, as he nodded and told his wife about their old friend, a classmate at Hogwarts, who Charlie had run into in Diagon Alley the day before, after the impromptu Quidditch game. In the middle of the story, the twins left to go home and change for work. Molly Weasley's eyes, grateful, followed them out the door as her spirits lifted. Rarely did Arthur look so much like his old self as he did now, talking about their old friend. Even fifteen minutes after she'd gotten downstairs, the day was looking up. 


	4. Serious Discussions

Chapter 04: Serious Discussions  
  
Ron, who'd slept through Harry's departure to Hogwarts for the day, walked into the kitchen, yawning, in orange-striped pajamas that clashed violently with his bright red hair. He stopped short on seeing the kitchen completely empty save Charlie and Bill, who grinned at him and pushed a chair his way.  
  
"Where's everyone?" Ron asked, sitting down in the middle of a face- splitting yawn. Bill laughed.  
  
"Harry had to go to Hogwarts today to meet with Dumbledore, remember?" Bill asked. "Hermione is with her parents for once, Mum went shopping, and everybody else is at work. So you're stuck with us."  
  
"You're usually at work by now," Ron pointed out.  
  
"Yeah. I usually am. But not on important occasions," Bill said evenly. Charlie sent a mug of tea sliding along the kitchen table toward Ron, who stopped it neatly despite the fact that his eyes were only half- open.  
  
"What important occasion? If it was that important, wouldn't everyone be here?" Ron managed, then drank half of his mug of tea.  
  
"They don't get cut in on every important occasion," Charlie said mildly. "Mum left about half a ton of eggs and sausage, if you want some."  
  
"Sure," Ron said, rubbing his eyes and finishing his tea. He was starting to wake up, and questions were starting to pop into his head with surprising speed for eight o'clock in the morning. "What's the important occasion?" he asked, looking at Bill, who rolled his eyes.  
  
"He doesn't know what the important occasion is, Charlie," Bill said, looking over his shoulder at Charlie, who was heaping a plate with sausage and eggs.  
  
Charlie waved his wand at the plate, which floated over to set itself down in front of Ron, and rolled his eyes again. "You're joking. Doesn't he know anything?" he asked, shaking his head sadly.  
  
"Come on, that's a bit unfair. I know things," Ron protested, even as he began shoveling eggs into his mouth. "Lots of things, really," he added after a moment of chewing. He appeared to have to be thinking rather hard to come up with any of those things, and his expression grew more disturbed as he chewed.  
  
"Easy does it, little brother. Don't get all hysterical on us," Charlie said mildly, then laughed. "You really don't know what the special occasion is?" he asked, just to needle Ron.  
  
"No, I really don't," Ron replied, starting to sound distinctly irritable.  
  
"Should have known the twins wouldn't let you in on it," Bill said with a sigh. Ron's head jerked up from his sausages and his bright blue eyes stared at his oldest brother.  
  
"Wouldn't let me in on what?" Ron asked.  
  
As though he hadn't heard Ron, Charlie shook his head again. "It's just like them," he told Bill, who nodded sagely.  
  
"What's just like them?" Ron demanded. His attention, for the first time, was completely off of his breakfast.  
  
"Not telling you," Charlie answered. He would have been willing to tease Ron a little longer, but Bill's raised eyebrow had him relenting. "About the Weasley brothers' career talk," Charlie continued, pretending to ignore Ron's wide eyes. "Well, we keep tabs on things, don't we?" Charlie said to Ron. "According to our records," he said, his brown eyes twinkling as he mimed going through paperwork, "you've taken your O.W.L.s and done well, you survived being a fifth-year prefect, saved the Quidditch Cup, you helped start D.A., you kicked some ass at the Ministry last month, and you're probably thinking about you're going to do after school." Ron's grin was as affecting as his apparent surprise at the fact that his two oldest brothers seemed to know anything at all about his life at school, and out of it.  
  
"Being nosy and overprotective, we want to find out all about what you're planning. Plus," Bill said, not to sound too concerned, "we figure you're old enough now to have a conversation without being an annoying git," he added. Rather than being irritated by this last comment, Ron seemed to find it a compliment. He grinned at both of his brothers, then went back to his sausages for a moment.  
  
"So," Charlie went on, sitting down at the table, "what do you want to do after school?"  
  
Ron didn't even stop to think. "Be an Auror," he said instantly. "Or play Quidditch, that would be cool, too. Don't know if I'm good enough, though. Mal said he doesn't see why not, but he was probably being nice. I was awful last year," he said, somewhat cheerfully. Both of his brothers laughed.  
  
"You were fine yesterday," Bill pointed out, and Ron's expression brightened further. "Made some good saves, didn't you?"  
  
"Sure, well, it's easy when it's just for fun. But when everyone's watching, that's when it all falls apart."  
  
"Well, that happens to everyone," Charlie said, nodding, though it had never happened to him. Bill, who knew this, bit the inside of his lip to keep his grin hidden. "It's just nerves, isn't it?"  
  
Ron didn't seem to notice that Charlie sounded like he was guessing. He grinned at Charlie and pushed back his empty plate. "I guess it must be," he said. "Because all I ever think when we're playing at school is that everyone's waiting for me to screw up."  
  
Charlie scoffed. That feeling he remembered well from his second year at Hogwarts, his first on the team. "Well, hell of course they are. That's just normal, isn't it? They're seeing what would happen if they were in your place," he said. Ron looked at him. This idea had obviously never occurred to him. Deciding to leave it for now, Charlie just grinned and raised an eyebrow at Bill while Ron stood up to get more tea.  
  
"An Auror, huh?" Bill asked, and Ron, sitting back down, nodded. "What's the draw there?" He hoped he'd managed to hit the right note, somewhere between interested and curious. The last thing he wanted to do was sound like a position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was out of Ron's reach. He'd just never suspected his little brother was interested in anything but Quidditch.  
  
"Well, it's like putting a puzzle together, isn't it?" Ron asked, staring at his mug. "You get the clues and put the pieces together to figure out who did it, or where they are." He looked up at Bill. The hope in Ron's bright blue eyes, so like his own, tugged at Bill's heart. "Harry wants to be one, too," he said. "'Course, he did better on his O.W.L.s. So he'll probably make it in. Mine weren't so hot."  
  
"They weren't bad at all," Bill protested, knowing that they hadn't been Auror-caliber either. "And it's not the final decision, either, Ron. If you can pick up your marks on what you didn't do so well at in your N.E.W.T.s, you'll have as good a chance as Harry." Bill hoped, anyway. He wasn't entirely sure how the Department picked out candidates for its Auror training program.  
  
"It's just hard, you know, because Harry and Hermione both made it into N.E.W.T. Potions. And Hermione never seems to have trouble in any subject. And Harry squeaks by." Ron sighed. "I'm always the one who's hanging on by his fingernails."  
  
"Well, you'll have plenty of help in Potions," Charlie pointed out, leaning back as he lit a cigarette. "Damn it all, what was that spell Morrigan had? Mum catches me smoking in here again and I'll pay for it with my life."  
  
Bill rolled his eyes. Ron watched as Bill pointed his wand at the window and had it sliding open on the still-sunny garden.  
  
"I guess what we've got to figure out is what you need work on, and how to catch you up," Bill said. Ron shrugged. "Look, Ron," Bill said patiently. "If you want to make it happen, you have to work at it. Like you did with Quidditch. Do you think we don't realise how much practice you put in last year? And look what you did-you not only made the team, but you saved the Cup for Gryffindor, didn't you?" Ron nodded slowly, as if the truth of Bill's statement had never really sunk in until that moment. "So you have to do the same thing with school, that's all. You don't have to be in the classes to take the N.E.W.T.s. So you take the N.E.W.T. classes you can, and you work on the rest. You know damned well any of us, and Harry, and Hermione, are more than willing to help. You just have to decide what you want."  
  
"You guys would be willing to help me with school," Ron said skeptically. His expression was caught between disbelief and laughter. He couldn't to get it through his head that Bill and Charlie both seemed to think that he could make Auror if he really wanted to. That he was good enough.  
  
"Why not?" Charlie asked, sounding as incensed as he could manage under the circumstances. Having seen reluctant amusement lurking in Charlie's eyes, Bill was impressed at how well his brother succeeded. "You're our brother, aren't you?" he asked. Ron nodded. "And we're yours, right?" Ron nodded again. "So who else would you ask, you great git?" Charlie asked, and had to give in to laughter. "You're talking to a former Head Boy and a former Prefect, aren't you? Who better to jump on the studying train?" In his own case, Charlie knew, this was pushing things a bit, but he decided the little white lie was worth it, all things considered.  
  
Ron was grinning at both of them. "I really, really need work on Charms and Transfigurations," he said, as though testing their resolve.  
  
"Let us know when you want to start," Bill said, as if that settled it.  
  
The expression on Ron's face said that it did, indeed, settle it. Neither Bill nor Charlie had ever seen their youngest brother smiling so brightly at half past eight o'clock on a rainy summer morning.  
  
***  
  
"Are Fred and George in?" asked a tall woman with long black hair and blue wizarding robes that matched her eyes exactly. She had long, legs and nice curves, displayed admirably by the long black skirt and v-necked shirt she wore under her robes. Lee Jordan, grinning at her as he took a moment to appreciate her good looks, nodded and pointed her toward the back of the shop. Lee watched her glide through the crowd with admirable ease, her slim body slipping between customers carrying armfuls of Canary Creams, Skiving Snackboxes, Trick Mirrors, Ugly Pills, and other assorted jokes. She stretched to avoid what would have been a painful collision with two teenaged Wizards carrying larger boxes-one, a new version of Exploding Snap that turned the unlucky victim of the explosion different colours; the other, a new version of Wizard's Chess in which the pieces were charmed to speak phrases far more colourful than the comments of normal Wizard's Chess pieces.  
  
Gracefully dodging threatening armloads of Weasley's Deluxe Gobstones sets, which squirted various substances that turned the players into different animals, and ducking to avoid a hanging display of trick wands, she headed toward the back of the store. She simply couldn't find an easy path through the shop. Every aisle was packed with young Wizards, and not-so- young Wizards, comparing packets of powders and sweets whose effects warmed the mischievous corner of her heart. The twins were hard at work stocking shelves in the back as Lee took care of customers up front. Sensing someone standing behind them, Fred turned around. George did the same, putting down the box he'd been pulling sweets out of.  
  
"Hullo," Fred said appreciatively. "Can we help you?"  
  
"Don't be a dimwit, Fred," came a familiar, Scots-accented voice. Fred looked closer. The woman's eyes changed from bright blue to deep green for a second, then back. George's soft curse was entirely admiring. They headed into the shop's office-a small room cluttered with paper and crammed to bursting with a double desk and a few chairs. They closed and locked the door, and Fred cast a Silencing Charm as he and George sat down on the desk. Morrigan picked the only chair empty of papers-which was only empty because Lee had been using it earlier that morning. With a sigh, she went from black-haired and blue-eyed and considerably more curvy to her usual red-haired, green-eyed self. Fred and George sighed. They'd have been lying if they'd denied being a bit disappointed by the change.  
  
"Thought you'd have been at work today," Fred managed, trying to get over being impressed at the ease of her transfiguration.  
  
"I am, just not on Ministry business at the moment," she said, wincing at the high heels she hadn't bothered to change. "Thus the costume," she added, rolling her eyes.  
  
"Right. So what brings you by?" George asked, so politely that she simply stared at him. He grinned and shrugged. "Mum's always telling us to mind our manners. Can't be too predictable. If we ignored her all the time, it'd get boring, wouldn't it?" he asked. She laughed.  
  
"I've got a proposition for you both," she said. Fred and George looked at each other, then looked at Morrigan, eyes twinkling warmly. She rolled her eyes. "Please," she said mildly. "A business proposition." The twins grinned at her, and shrugged.  
  
"Can't blame a fellow for trying," Fred said, so matter-of-factly that she couldn't help laughing again. "What's the proposition, then?"  
  
"Well, Mal and I are looking for an investment. And we're all looking for a base of operations for the junior Order-you've heard about that?" she asked, and Fred and George nodded. "Anyway, we're looking in Hogsmeade. A friend of mine who lives there sounded out Zonko's. Looks like they're planning to retire soon. If you're interested, it would be a perfect place for another branch," she said. Even the twins, with their long experience in subterfuge, couldn't hide the gleam in their eyes.  
  
"Love to, but don't think we could," George said after some thought. His voice was reluctant. "We've got capital, but we don't have enough to keep things running here and buy out Zonko's."  
  
Fred nodded gloomily. "Just figures," he said. "They'll sell out to someone else."  
  
"Did I ask if you had the money to do it? Of course a business that's barely been open six months doesn't have that kind of capital. I don't care if you're minting galleons in the back room here, you wouldn't have that kind of cash when you're still building up your stock. I asked if you're interested in opening a branch there."  
  
"'Course we are, do we look stupid?" Fred asked, his blue eyes impatient.  
  
"Even if we look stupid, d'you really think we are?" George asked. Morrigan laughed.  
  
"Mal and I are always looking for investments. We're willing to buy out Zonko's if you're willing to take the place over and run it once it's bought. Our friend in Hogsmeade said Zonko's will probably be willing to take off so you can get in there before the first Hogsmeade weekend. Our only condition is that you keep our names out of it. We don't want it all over the place, for obvious reasons."  
  
"Right. If Dumbledore doesn't want you seen around with Order members, or Weasleys," Fred said with a grin; being a Weasley these days was about as good as being an Order member, "it wouldn't be so good to be investing openly in a Weasley shop, would it?" he asked.  
  
"Exactly," Morrigan said, nodding. "We'd need to be able to use the upstairs rooms for meetings-short meetings, maybe an hour every Hogsmeade weekend-and that's really about it. It's the best way to get them all in one place with the rest of us without it seeming suspicious."  
  
"Right. And we need to talk about that junior Order thing, too. For one thing, we want in," George said, prepared to argue his position.  
  
"Done," Morrigan said, surprising both twins. "The only reason we didn't ask you both yesterday was that you left before your Mum did. She's not really keen on the idea of letting anyone underage get any more information than they absolutely need."  
  
"Right. Except that they absolutely need as much as they can get, and she doesn't realise it," Fred commented. His brother and Morrigan both nodded.  
  
"So we'll definitely be getting together more about that. But for the moment, I'll have Tris-that's our friend in Hogsmeade, Tristan Hollis- work on the deal with Zonko's. The papers will be in his name and both of yours."  
  
"And he won't draw suspicion?" George asked.  
  
"Don't think so. He's a vampire, isn't he? About as far from wearing a sign with 'Order Member' painted on it as you can get."  
  
"He's a vampire?" Fred asked, immensely interested. "Kind of dangerous to work with then, isn't he?"  
  
"Hardly," Morrigan said. "He's a vampire like Remus Lupin is a werewolf. Not dangerous as long as he's taking his potions like he should."  
  
"Didn't know they made a potion for that," George mused.  
  
"Well, they didn't, before we all got together and made him one," Morrigan said with a shrug. "But he doesn't go around biting people's necks and never has, though morning and afternoon aren't his favourite times of day. We'll tell you the story sometime, when we have more time. I've got to be back to work soon or they'll wonder where I am."  
  
"Right." Fred seemed to be thinking hard about something. He looked at George, then looked at Morrigan. "Listen, this isn't going to strap you guys for cash, is it?" he asked.  
  
Morrigan shook her head. "Don't worry about the money. It's the one useful thing our Death Eater grandfather left us plenty of, through our grandmother. Kind of poetic justice, really, using it like this," she said, with more than a hint of amusement in her eyes. Fred and George, satisfied, grinned at her. "So we'll be in touch about the whole thing," she said, "but it's not as though we won't be seeing you around the house."  
  
"Sure, we're hard to miss," George laughed. Grinning, they all stood up, shook hands, and headed back into the shop. Before the office door opened, Morrigan changed back into her black-haired, blue-eyed, curvy witch disguise with a wave of her wand, and both twins made a point of letting her precede them out of the office.  
  
"Glad I'm not her older brother," Fred said, admiring the view as she walked out of the shop. "I'd never get a moment's sleep knowing she was walking around London looking like that."  
  
"Spot on," George agreed. "Bet she gives Bill a run for his money," he added, returning reluctantly to his carton of sweets.  
  
Fred looked at George, an eyebrow raised in surprise. "Bill hasn't looked at a single woman since he broke it off with Fleur," he stated, as though George didn't know this as well as he did himself.  
  
"Well, that was true before Morrigan came along," George said, starting to whistle. "But I bet this is one lady who doesn't fall all over our big brother when he crooks his finger," he continued. "As far as I can tell, she barely even looked at him."  
  
Fred grinned, enjoying the idea. "Wouldn't that be refreshing," he said, in a tone that indicated that he was half impressed and half insulted by the idea of his all-but-perfect oldest brother having to chase after any woman.  
  
"Well, it'll make Charlie feel better, running around after Tonks the way he is," George pointed out. Laughing, Fred nodded.  
  
"Won't it be fun to mess with Bill's head?" Fred asked, and George looked at his brother, starting to grin. "She's meeting us at the Wands, isn't she?" Fred added.  
  
Identical gleams in their eyes, Fred and George went back to stocking shelves. Even the possibility of moving into Zonko's space in Hogsmeade wasn't quite as fun of an idea as the rare chance to make trouble for their oldest brother.  
  
***  
  
Harry followed Albus Dumbledore through the hallways, up to the stone gargoyle that marked the entrance to the Headmaster's office. After one of the best breakfasts Harry had ever had that hadn't been prepared by Mrs. Weasley, Harry was feeling far too full and not much like talking. He wanted to be back at Grimmauld Place, talking to Ron about Quidditch or the Potions lessons they'd be getting from the Carricks that night. Or sleeping. Anything but having what was showing every sign of being another long, serious talk. He waited while Professor Dumbledore spoke the password-Chocolate Frog-and followed the Headmaster up the moving circular staircase to his office.  
  
"Have a seat, Harry," Dumbledore said, sounding somewhat amused. Harry wasn't even trying to hide his reluctance to be here, which, in Dumbledore's opinion, was a distinctly healthy sign for a 16-year old who'd been through what Harry had in the last few years. "We're really not here for any particular reason. There's no big, serious talk coming. I just thought that, while we had the chance, while things are somewhat peaceful, you might have some questions for me."  
  
Now he was here, Harry was having a hard time forgetting his last time in this office. Sirius had just died, they had just returned from the Ministry of Magic, and he had been in the grip of grief and rage like he'd never known. He wished he'd never known it. It was still too close to the surface for him to feel comfortable here, where it had finally come out in a flood of fury that he hadn't even tried to control. Still, he thought, it was becoming a rare week for getting information. That wasn't an opportunity to pass up.  
  
"I-I guess I'm not sure what to ask. I'll probably think of something soon," he said, evoking another smile from Dumbledore.  
  
"Not used to getting information thrown at you from every side, are you?" Dumbledore asked cheerfully. Harry grinned.  
  
"Not exactly," Harry admitted, pushing his glasses back up his nose and considering the situation. He half-wished he could ask Malcolm what to ask. That got him started. "Did you know about the Carricks? I mean, before they got hold of you?"  
  
Dumbledore looked at Harry, and Harry thought he saw relief flicker in the old Wizard's eyes. "I didn't," he said, with a sigh. "Would that I had known. The Charm that your mother first cast, and that I re-cast, to protect you was nothing in the face of the Charm their grandmother cast to hide their relationship to you from the world. It's Elven magic, very ancient and very powerful." And, Dumbledore thought but did not add, it would have enabled Harry to live elsewhere than with the Dursleys.  
  
"Do you think that's why I can do magic without a wand? Because of Elven blood?"  
  
Dumbledore smiled. "It could very well be. I don't know enough about High Elves to know how many generations the blood would carry that kind of power to. But Morrigan seems to know quite a bit about it, and she seems to think that even the Muggles in your family might have some kind of ability to perform wandless magic." Dumbledore's lips twitched at Harry's appalled expression. The thought of the Dursleys being able to perform wandless magic was, indeed, appalling. Dumbledore considered suggesting Harry speak with Morrigan about the subject of Elven blood and wandless magic, and decided against it. Harry had enough to worry about at the moment. "Well, some of the Muggles, anyway," Dumbledore clarified. "We can only hope that the Dursleys are exempt from that rule," he added, making Harry laugh.  
  
The sound of Harry laughing seemed to make Dumbledore relax, and Harry realised that the Headmaster had been as apprehensive about this meeting as he had. Somehow, that knowledge calmed Harry. He settled down into his chair and looked around the office, at the Sorting Hat and Godric Gryffindor's sword in their cases.  
  
"I was wondering, err, if I had other family on my Mum's side that no one knew about, could I have other family out there, too?" Harry asked, his eyes intent on Dumbledore.  
  
"It wouldn't make much sense to entirely rule it out, given the circumstances," Dumbledore admitted. "As far as I know, you don't have any family on your father's side who are still living. Your Potter grandparents died in Death Eater attacks while your father was still in school. That's how he inherited what is now your Invisibility Cloak. Your grandfather, Andrew, was an Auror, and it had been his Cloak. His parents, your great-grandparents, had him when they were considerably older. They died before your father even entered school.  
  
"Your aunt and uncle on your father's side were too young to even have started school when the Death Eaters attacked Andrew's home. He, his wife, and their two youngest children were all killed. To the best of my knowledge, you had no other relatives on your father's side. The Potters didn't run to large families. Just good ones," he said, and Harry saw a shadow pass over Dumbledore's face. He'd never had any doubt that Dumbledore had mourned his father's death. Seeing the proof, especially after what Harry had seen in Snape's pensieve last term, eased Harry's heart.  
  
Harry looked around the office again, then decided that he was going to embarrass himself crying if he didn't change the subject. "Whose idea was the junior Order?" he asked, his eyes returning to Dumbledore.  
  
"It was something of a joint effort," Dumbledore said, then offered Harry a lemon drop. Harry shook his head with a grin, Dumbledore popped a lemon drop in his mouth, and went on. "I was concerned that we were hurting you and creating opportunities for disaster by keeping you, and by extension your friends, out of the loop." A pained look crossed the Headmaster's face, then disappeared. He understood the difference between giving Harry some information, and letting Harry in on everything. He was walking that line right now. "As I told you at the end of last term, I was at fault for not telling you about the prophecy in the beginning. I wasn't the only one who was at fault, but I was at fault. And I've spent the last month or so working out how to get you more information without completely disrupting everything normal in your life.  
  
"We can't allow underage Witches and Wizards in the Order, Harry-I hope you understand our reasoning." Dumbledore's brilliant blue eyes found Harry's. Harry nodded. "So I was at a loss as to how we could share information with you. Arthur, Bill, and Charlie Weasley were of the opinion that we needed to create something formal, but no one was entirely sure how to manage it, given the secrecy surrounding the Order.  
  
"Then the Carricks-who, to be fair to them, had been in favor of giving you all more information since they joined the Order last December-found out about your relationship, and got more heavily involved in things. They were the ones who came up with the idea of an entirely separate Order, a junior Order if you will, and how to keep it as secret as the senior Order.  
  
"Not everyone was convinced that it was a good idea. Not everyone who thought it was a good idea was convinced it needed to be kept as secret as the original Order. The Carricks argued, and people agreed after a while, that the need for secrecy was at least as crucial for the junior Order, as you're all in day-to-day contact with people who have a direct line to Death Eaters." Dumbledore didn't tell Harry about how heated the debates had gotten; he didn't think it was necessary for Harry to know that only over the last few days had the Carricks' argument won the day.  
  
"I received a message from Morrigan today. She and Malcolm are working on setting up a headquarters, and making it easily accessible to all of you during the school year."  
  
"In Hogsmeade, then?" Harry asked.  
  
Dumbledore smiled. "I can only assume that's true, as we don't communicate in enormous detail except in person. But in our previous discussions, Morrigan and I decided that the headquarters had to be in a place you wouldn't be questioned about walking into, had to be used for no more than an hour at any one meeting, and had to be used only when you and the others could get to it without breaking school rules. She's taking care of the rest."  
  
"Professor, about the Occlumency," Harry began. "I don't know if Professor Snape-"  
  
"Professor Snape will not be working with you on Occlumency, Harry," Dumbledore said gently. "Though I believe that he could now put his personal feelings aside, he is going to be far too busy with the Order to take the time to teach you correctly. I've arranged another tutor for you. One you'll have far less trouble working with, I assure you. And you're starting with Potions today, I believe?"  
  
Harry nodded. "I don't know how much good it'll do, really. We're hopeless, except for Hermione."  
  
Dumbledore's smile conveyed amusement rather than agreement. "Oh, I think you'll surprise yourself, Harry," he said, chuckling to himself. "I've taken the liberty of arranging for Mr. Longbottom to join you for the rest of the summer. I would have liked to see Miss Lovegood join you as well, but she and her father are still out of the country." Dumbledore took another lemon drop out of the dish on his desk and sighed with enjoyment after he'd popped it into his mouth.  
  
"What about D.A.?" Harry asked, getting into the swing of being able to ask whatever questions he wanted.  
  
Dumbledore smiled at him. "I was going to suggest that it become more of an open club," he replied, "now that...certain obstacles have been removed."  
  
"Can we still keep it as it is?" Harry wanted to know. "I mean, not a secret anymore, but-" he paused, unsure of how to word his question.  
  
Dumbledore seemed to understand. His smile grew for a moment, then he managed to control it. "There's no need for a professor to supervise," he said with a smile. "Although you should, of course, feel free to ask one for advice, should the need arise." He seemed to be considering whether to go on, and came to a decision after another moment.  
  
"If working with the Carricks goes well for you all during the rest of the summer, they've said that they're willing to come to school and continue tutoring you several times a week, as your schedule permits. They're very well-grounded in Defense Against the Dark Arts, in Potions, Transfiguration- to be honest, there isn't much, between the two of them, that they don't excel in. So when Professor McGonagall's duties don't permit her to tutor you, the Carricks can step in as needed." Dumbledore saw the gleam this brought to Harry's eyes, and smiled. "Now, they will be busy with the Order and with their jobs. But they don't work full-time for the Ministry, so their schedules are somewhat flexible."  
  
Harry frowned. This was the first he'd heard of this. "How can you be a part-time Auror?" he asked, not understanding.  
  
Dumbledore's expression became shuttered, his eyes moving to the multitude of silver instruments around the office. Harry, still trying to work out how an Auror could work part-time, didn't notice. Nor did he seem to pick up on the suddenly careful tone of Dumbledore's voice. "From what I understand, they were originally brought in to work on a very select group of cases. The number of cases has dwindled the longer they've been working for the Ministry, and no new cases have been assigned to them, so they requested to officially work part-time two years ago. They'd be the ones who could truly explain that," he told Harry. "It has to do with their cover at the Ministry," he finished, and sighed. Dumbledore sat forward in his chair, about to destroy the easy tone of their discussion and already regretting the need to do so.  
  
"Harry, I did want to talk to you about Professor Snape," Dumbledore said, and watched Harry's face tighten into an expression that shouldn't have been at home on a sixteen-year old's face. The Headmaster stifled a sigh and went on resignedly. "I know that the two of you have had your problems. And I know that what happened in June didn't improve the situation. I'm not going to ask you to do anything but give him a chance. It may be hard to believe, given the situation between Professor Snape and Sirius." At the mention of Sirius' name, a flash of pain crossed Harry's face. Dumbledore, loathing the necessity of causing Harry any pain, sighed heavily. "They were never friends. In fact, they were usually enemies. The same could be said for Professor Snape and your father.  
  
"But, Harry, Professor Snape has been suffering under his own load of guilt after what happened last month. I don't know if you can believe me, but at least consider what I'm saying. No matter how much he disliked Sirius Black, he never wanted Sirius to die. I know that he hasn't always seemed to feel that way. And as I said, I'm not asking you to suddenly become his best friend. I'm only asking that you consider that, as losing Sirius has changed you, his loss may have changed others as well."  
  
Harry nodded reluctantly. He didn't believe it, not for one second. But above all, despite his lingering resentment about being kept in the dark for so long, he respected Dumbledore, and he would at least try to consider what Dumbledore was saying. However, he wasn't about to make any promises.  
  
He was standing up to leave, and had nearly reached the door, when Dumbledore's voice called him back. He turned, and saw Dumbledore smiling at him. "Incidentally, Harry," Dumbledore said, and Harry found himself smiling back at the twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes. "I thought it might interest you to know that your lifetime ban from Quidditch has been lifted." Harry's brilliant smile seemed to float in the air hours after he'd left.  
  
Harry bounded down the staircase from the Headmaster's office quietly, thoughts whirling in his head. He headed through the hallways and out onto the grounds, heading toward Hagrid's cabin. Knocking on the door, he noticed that the cabin looked deserted. He frowned. There was no sign of Fang, Hagrid's enormous boarhound. He looked around. The garden was full of plants Harry was reluctant to try to identify, well-tended. Harry guessed that Hagrid was probably in the Forest, with Grawp. Remembering his meetings with Hagrid's younger brother, a sixteen-foot tall Giant whose hobbies included pulling small pines trees out of the ground by their roots, Harry shivered. He decided that it wouldn't be a good idea to go searching out Hagrid in the Forest. As much as he wanted to see Hagrid, he wasn't confident of his chances at coming out of the Forest in one piece, between Grawp and the Centaurs. He pushed Hagrid's door open, planning on leaving him a note.  
  
He found a piece of parchment on the table, and, seeing his name at the top of the note, leaned over it to read what was written there.  
  
"Harry,  
I was hopin' to be around when you got to  
school with the Headmaster, but a little problem  
came up with Grawpy. Had to go take care of  
things in the Forest. Please don't come and try  
to find me. Things are a little difficult in the Forest  
these days. Take care of yourself. I'll see you in  
three weeks. Tell Ron, Hermione, and Ginny I said  
hello.  
Hagrid."  
  
Harry sighed. The note, which had obviously been written in a hurry, made him wonder exactly what kind of problem had come up with Grawp. The possibilities were somewhat staggering. Between Grawp and the Centaurs, even Hagrid had a very hard time in the Forest these days. And Hagrid was half-Giant. If he was admitting to having a difficult time in the Forest, Harry wasn't even going to attempt to calculate his own chances of making a successful trip in. Especially after his own run-in with the Centaurs at the end of last term.  
  
He picked up the quill Hagrid had left with difficulty; it was really far too large for him to write with, but he turned over the parchment and did his best.  
  
"Hagrid,  
I got your note. I wish I could have gotten  
here sooner. It would have been great to  
see you. It's been an interesting summer so far."  
  
Here Harry paused, and decided against telling Hagrid about his new cousins. He knew Hagrid's tendency to forget himself and tell people things best left secret. When it worked to his advantage-as it so often had during his five years at Hogwarts-he didn't mind it. Still, he didn't think it would be a good idea to spread information about the Carricks around, not in a note at least. He thought for a moment, and went on.  
  
"I hope Grawp is all right in the Forest, and  
hopefully he's getting along with his English  
lessons. Please be careful in there, Hagrid!  
Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Ginny said hi.  
We can't wait to get back to school. We'll  
come to see you as soon as we get here, but  
we won't go into the Forest to find you if you're  
not here. We'll see you in three weeks!  
Harry."  
  
Harry, feeling that he hadn't promised anything he couldn't deliver, set down the quill. There was no way Ron, Ginny, Hermione, or Neville would agree to go back into the Forest, even to see Hagrid. Wishing he'd found Hagrid in, but slightly glad of the chance to avoid turning down an offer of rock cakes, or Hagrid's treacle fudge, or anything Hagrid had baked, he left the cabin, carefully closing the door behind him, and went back up to the castle.  
  
***  
  
Malcolm and Morrigan sat on opposite sides of the kitchen table, with Moody sitting at the head of the table. If a night spent on guard duty, a full day of work, and an hour-and-a-half of Potions lessons with five energetic teenagers had exhausted them, they showed no sign. They were all business, discussing plans for their trip to Azkaban, and they drew maps and marked them up for a few hours. Moody finally let them go around midnight, and they headed into the garden, where Bill, Charlie, Fred, and George were sitting around a campfire that glowed alternately blue and green, depending on whether Fred or George had last pointed a wand at it. Grinning, Malcolm pointed his wand at the fire and had it turning scarlet. The twins looked up and grinned back.  
  
"Grab a seat," George said, and conjured up two chairs.  
  
"Err.I don't know if you'd want to sit on those. They're still working on conjuring. Their chairs tend to disappear too quickly," Charlie said, and howled with laughter when Fred's chair disappeared out from beneath him as if on cue. The Carricks grinned at Fred sympathetically, then Malcolm conjured up some chairs and he and Morrigan sat down.  
  
"Already have a Silencing Charm on. Those damned Extendable Ears," Fred said, with entirely feigned irritation. Morrigan hid a grin. Malcolm didn't bother. "So you're still going to meet us Friday night, right?" Fred asked Morrigan. "At the Wands?"  
  
"I said I would, didn't I?" Morrigan replied easily. Neither Fred, George, nor Charlie missed the quick look Bill gave Morrigan. Malcolm saw Fred and George grin at each other, and caught on quickly. Morrigan appeared to be completely oblivious. "What time were you thinking?" she asked the twins.  
  
"Sometime around nine, I guess," George answered. "Did you want us to pick you up on the way?"  
  
Morrigan raised an eyebrow. "Actually, I'll be heading there from somewhere else. So it'll be better if I meet you."  
  
"Oh, that's fine, then," Fred said, grinning. "We'll save a table then, won't we?"  
  
"That'd be good. It gets crowded when Grimoire's playing," she said, nodding. "I forgot to mention it this morning, but we're almost ready to start working on that other little project. They've decided on using Chocolate Frog cards."  
  
"Oh, that's brilliant," George added, not having missed the look Bill gave her when she mentioned having met them this morning. "They're always carrying those around anyway, aren't they? Well, come on around when you're ready, and we'll get to work on them."  
  
Fred frowned. "We'll be needing some help, though. The basics won't be too tough, of course, but making them reach anywhere, that's the hard bit."  
  
"Not a problem," Malcolm said, nodding. He looked at Charlie and Bill and saw that they weren't following along. "The cards are to use," he explained, "for Harry, Ron, and the others to get hold of any of us. We can use anything for ours, but it's hard to find something they can keep around them on a regular basis without having people wondering why they're always carrying it. Mor and I have used mirrors before, but how do you carry a mirror around with you all day at school without people asking questions?" he asked. Charlie and Bill nodded, understanding.  
  
"So they're using Chocolate Frog cards," Charlie mused. "That's better than perfect, as long as they don't confuse them with other Chocolate Frog cards."  
  
"They won't. We're going to charm them to make sure of it," Malcolm explained. "They need passwords and all sorts of other things, in addition to the right spells to make them communicate back and forth. And we need to make sure that they only communicate with whatever we pick for ours. We don't want them using them to talk to each other at school, that would completely defeat the purpose of keeping them secret."  
  
"We thought we could work out a spell that would make the cards recognise the user," Fred said. "It would be a backup to the password, to make sure that the wrong people aren't using it."  
  
George nodded. "And a charm like the one Flitwick used on the school doors to recognise a picture of Sirius. So the cards would only work for one of the Order."  
  
Morrigan thought about that, and nodded, grinning. "That's good," she said, and the twins beamed at her. "I knew you'd be the people to go to for that," she added, which made Fred and George grin so widely Charlie thought their faces might crack in half.  
  
"Talked to Ron today," Charlie said casually. Morrigan's eyes flew to his. "Seems he wants to be an Auror."  
  
The Weasley twins, who only a few months ago would have howled with laughter at this pronouncement, considered Charlie's statement for a moment, then nodded.  
  
"He'd be a good one, wouldn't he?" Fred asked. "It'd probably take him a bit to catch on, sure, but he'd be good at it. All that strategy and stuff. How's he going to manage the Potions bit?"  
  
"Well, he doesn't need the class to take the N.E.W.T., does he?" Charlie pointed out. "So he's going to work with Harry and Hermione on the extra lessons. And we'll work with him on the Transfiguration and Charms stuff." Charlie nodded at Bill.  
  
"What, we don't get to help?" George demanded, sounding genuinely wounded.  
  
"Well, if you can help without making him feel like your incompetent little brother, you should help," Morrigan pointed out. "I know, I know, it's not your fault you're so cool, but if you can't help rubbing it in, you're not going to do him much good."  
  
"Come on, give us a shot?" Fred asked Charlie and Bill.  
  
"Join the club," Bill finally said, once he'd gotten over his surprise. "Didn't know you'd be interested in lessons, given your.er.attitude toward them when you were at school."  
  
"Oh, that was just because we had different goals then," George assured his oldest brother loftily. "Getting out of school, to be exact." He and Fred grinned. "But we've got to stick together, don't we? And we can't do that if we don't work at it, can we?"  
  
"Still thought he would have wanted to play Quidditch," Fred said, frowning.  
  
"Well, it's on the drawing board, isn't it?" Bill asked, lighting a cigarette with a wave of his wand. "But he'd rather be an Auror, at least right now."  
  
"He'd be a good Keeper," George mused. "Now he's gotten the hang of it, anyway," he added. "Not that it matters. He should do whatever the hell he wants to do, shouldn't he? I mean, we all did," he pointed out. His three brothers nodded.  
  
"Right. So, well, he's probably going to be a bit put out with you," Charlie told the twins. Morrigan's lips twitched before she could control them; the looks of innocent outrage on the Weasley twins' faces were perfect. Charlie went on to give them a brief version of what Morrigan had told Bill and him the previous morning. After expressing the utmost contempt for Percy, Fred and George admitted that making it seem as though this was something all the Weasleys had gone through had been the best strategy.  
  
"Couldn't have blamed it on the prat though, could you?" Fred muttered, making his older brothers grin.  
  
"Wouldn't have been too believable," Bill pointed out. "Do you really think Ron would believe that Percy had wanted us to talk to him about his career?"  
  
"Good point," George admitted, a bit unwillingly. Then he grinned. "So how'd they do in Potions today?" he asked the Carricks, who grinned back.  
  
"They managed a pretty good Tranquilising Potion, once they got the jitters out. Well, except for Hermione. I don't think the girl ever has any jitters," Malcolm said. Morrigan nodded, grinning. "I think they're a lot better than they give themselves credit for."  
  
"They just don't pay enough attention to the potions they're making, because they're so worried about Snape," Morrigan said, laughing. "You should have seen Neville once he got going. He was like a whole different person. And, of course, the new wand helps a lot," she said. Fred and George looked at her, surprised. "Well, his grandmother had him using his father's old wand, which didn't seem to get along with him very well. That got broken at the Ministry in June, so he's got a new one. He and Ron were having this fake duel, after they'd cleared up, and Ron threw a Jelly-Legs Jinx on him. Worked really well. But then Neville got him back with a full-body bind. Said something about having been waiting four years to get one of the three of them with it. And they all laughed like loons for ages. Well, at least they did once we took the jinx off Ron. I mean, he could hardly laugh with it on, could he?"  
  
Fred and George laughed. "Good thing he didn't decide to duel with Ginny. She'd have kicked his ass good." Fred sounded like a proud father.  
  
"No doubt. I've seen that Bat-Bogey Hex." Morrigan laughed. "I'm staying on her good side, let me tell you," she added. George beamed, as though he'd taught Ginny everything she knew.  
  
"So what's the Potions schedule? We need to work out the schedule for Ron's extra stuff, don't we?" Charlie asked.  
  
"You should work with all of them," Malcolm said. "Ron's not the only one who could use some work. We could just have two hours every night, half Potions and half everything else. Then we could all work on it together, and it wouldn't get to be too much."  
  
"And it would be good practice for the school year, for you two," Fred said, grinning at Morrigan and leaning over to steal one of her cigarettes.  
  
"Oh, has Dumbledore decided, then?" she asked, looking pleased. She held her wand out and lit his cigarette for him. Not to be outdone, George took one. She lit his as well.  
  
"According to Harry he has," George said, nodding. "They're all buzzing about it. Are you two going to live in the castle, are you going to help them with D.A., are you going to do this, and are you going to do that. Neville seems to think that you're going to be teaching Defense this year."  
  
At that, Morrigan laughed until she nearly fell off her chair. "They wouldn't let us within six miles of a real classroom," she said. "Dumbledore knows too much about our school days. He and Professor Wrightes-he's the Headmaster at Caerdys-know each other."  
  
"Oh, we've got to hear more about this," Fred and George said at the same time, always willing to share school war stories.  
  
Morrigan grinned. "We can talk all about it Friday. It's too late to start in on that now," she said, and yawned. "Got to be at the office early tomorrow. Some kind of meeting," she said. Disappointed, all four Weasley brothers said goodbye as she and Malcolm finished their cigarettes, pitched them neatly into the fire, Vanished their chairs, and Disapparated. 


	5. Trouble Brewing

Chapter 05: Trouble Brewing  
  
Bill and Charlie, sitting with Fred and George at a table near the stage at the Wands, looked up as a flash of spiky bright-purple hair caught their eyes. Walking into the pub, dressed in jeans and a Weird Sisters tank top, her ears decorated with small silver hoops and her face showing uncharacteristic signs of makeup, was Tonks. Beside her was an equally good-looking young woman, whose sun-streaked honey-coloured hair fell past her shoulders in riotous curls. Fred and George looked hard at Tonks' friend. She wore a long faded denim skirt and a black tank top with a small picture of a black cat in front of a white full moon, a circular jade pendant on a leather thong, and an eclectic assortment of sterling silver earrings and rings. There was a delicately-curving tattoo around her bicep and another around her ankle. The sandals on her feet did nothing to hide the toe rings. Fred looked at George. George looked at Fred. They both grinned. As they watched her, Tonks' friend looked over at them and stuck out her tongue. It was pierced as well. They beamed at her, very impressed indeed.  
  
"Who's that with Tonks?" Bill asked Charlie.  
  
"Never seen her before," Charlie replied, uninterested, staring after Tonks as she and her friend headed over toward the stage. Fred and George exchanged a look, then grinned at each other. The lead singer waved at them cheerfully, and they joined the crowd dancing in front of the stage as they waved back. At the first break, Tonks and her friend made their way over to the Weasleys' table, accompanied by the four band members.  
  
"Hi, guys," Tonks said cheerfully, sliding into a seat at the table and nearly knocking over someone's mug of mead. Charlie caught it with the reflexes of someone who, though normally quick, had been expecting this, and Tonks flashed him a grateful look. If she was blushing, it was impossible to tell in the dimly lit room. Charlie grinned at her, and looked up as Tonks' friend sat down in the chair that the twins had suddenly pulled out from between them.  
  
She seemed to take it for granted that they knew who she was, and went around the table, introducing the band members to Bill, Charlie, and the twins. The band members pulled up chairs and sat down. Nicholas, the band's lead singer, seemed amused by the looks of confusion on Bill's and Charlie's faces. "Err.Morrigan," he said, "haven't you forgotten something?"  
  
The blond looked confused for a moment, then remembered. "Oh. Sorry. It's me," she said, laughing when Bill and Charlie looked shocked. "Merlin's foot, you two, you've known Tonks for how long? A little disguise here and there can't be that surprising." She rolled her eyes when they continued to stare at her, and returned to her introductions. "Right, so you've met Nicholas," she said, and the tall, blond lead singer nodded at them all again. "Next to Nick is Gwynne," she said, indicating a short blond Witch in scarlet robes, "and next to her is Tristan." Tristan, a tall, gaunt-looking young man with auburn hair and eyes so brown they were nearly black, nodded politely. "And next to Tris is Malcolm, but you already know him." Malcolm, whose black hair, brown eyes, and darkly suntanned skin made him as unrecognizable as Morrigan was, grinned at the Weasleys. Bill and Charlie still couldn't manage to find words.  
  
"Look. We're not allowed to be seen in public with any of you. Do you think that means we won't still be around?" Morrigan asked, with overstated patience. After thinking that over for a while, Charlie grinned and shrugged. Morrigan grinned back and went on talking to Fred and George. She didn't notice that Bill's eyes were still following her, moving from earrings to tattoo as though he simply couldn't put it together. Fred and George, who definitely did notice Bill's preoccupation, could barely hold in their laughter.  
  
"So this is Fred, and this is George," Morrigan was telling Tristan, "former troublemakers extraordinaire at Hogwarts, now owners of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes," she added, and Tristan, as though recognising the name of the shop, nodded. He smiled for the first time, and Fred and George smiled back.  
  
"Good to meet you," Tristan said, reaching over and shaking both twins' hands. "I'd imagine we'll be seeing a lot of each other. Things are looking up," he said simply. Neither Bill nor Charlie could account for the sudden, huge grins that decorated their brothers' faces.  
  
"That's great," Fred said sincerely. "We're really looking forward to it."  
  
George nodded. "We've got loads of ideas," he said, and within minutes, Tristan and the twins were deeply involved in a cryptic conversation that was absolutely incomprehensible to their brothers. Tonks was talking to Gwynne and Malcolm about some of the songs they'd been playing. Morrigan took pity on Charlie and Bill, and got them talking to Nicholas about Bill's former job as a Curse-Breaker for Gringott's and Charlie's work with dragons in Romania. She butted in on all three conversations from time to time, until it was time for the band to return to the stage. Almost as soon as the music started, the twins dragged her off to the dance floor, and Tonks laughed, watching them go.  
  
"I knew they'd get along well," she said, and found herself the object of two interested stares from two very nice pairs of eyes, one bright blue and one deep brown. "Oh, well, I suppose it's a twin thing. Both sets of them are the biggest troublemakers I've ever heard of," she said with a laugh. "Mor and Mal nearly ran Caerdys into the ground between them, and Fred and George came close at Hogwarts, from what I hear."  
  
"They don't seem like troublemakers," Charlie said. No one doubted he was talking about the Carricks, as Fred and George, at least outwardly, seemed like nothing else.  
  
"Well, that's why they were so good, isn't it?" Tonks asked, grinning up at him. "Nicholas said they were really bad before all the trouble."  
  
Charlie frowned. "The trouble?" he asked, his brown eyes growing intense. "What trouble?"  
  
Tonks looked uncomfortable. "Well, it's a long story, isn't it?" she asked, obviously not wanting to talk about it. "And it's not really my story to tell. It wasn't really bad trouble, just kind of bad." She looked away when Charlie's gaze only grew more intent. "Charlie, you'd have to ask her. Really. All I can say is that it's over now. She's better. She wouldn't have gotten into Auror training if she wasn't better."  
  
Tonks looked away, watching the dance floor for a moment as Fred and George, dancing with far more enthusiasm than talent, nearly beheaded a few dancers near them, and had Morrigan ducking gracefully on occasion to avoid severe bodily injury during one or another of the twins' particularly energetic moves.  
  
"So they were troublemakers?" Charlie asked, hoping Tonks would let out some information unintentionally, much as he doubted it. It was true that when it came to small, unimportant things, Tonks could be clumsy. Nevertheless, she was an Auror, and though she'd told them a bit too much about her friend, she hadn't really told them anything of importance. And now that she was on her guard, she wouldn't let anything else slip. "They don't seem the type. I mean, they're Aurors, and Dumbledore let them in the Order. They had to be good at school, and all that."  
  
"Well, they were. I mean, they were both Prefects in their fifth, sixth, and seventh years, and they almost made Head Boy and Head Girl. It was a case of hiding in plain sight, really. I doubt they were ever not out after hours, and I doubt there was a single hidden room in that castle they didn't know. Of course, being as good at Transfiguration as they are, they were never caught, not even once, though they got more than their fair share of detentions over their first four years."  
  
"If they were never caught, how did they get detention?" Charlie wanted to know.  
  
"Usually for stuff they did in lessons, though the Quidditch at Caerdys is pretty competitive, and they got drawn into a few duels in the hallways, from what I've been told," Tonks said, laughing.  
  
"Do they send many players to professional leagues?" Charlie said, frowning.  
  
"Well, they don't, not really," Tonks said with a shrug. Clearly, she and the Carricks had discussed this many times. "They mostly just play while they're in school, which is a bit strange, for as good as they are. But Caerdys is.well, it's just different, isn't it?" she asked. Charlie and Bill, who'd never even heard of it before, simply looked at her questioningly.  
  
"So they got detentions for getting into duels with other Quidditch players?" Bill asked, sounding amused. He could remember Charlie doing the same thing at Hogwarts.  
  
Tonks nodded. "And they got into trouble on daytrips, and put a Color Change Hex on the doorway to their Common Room, and set the Transfiguration rats loose in the Dining Hall during dinner. Nick said that the three of them Charmed some of the portraits into singing Muggle rap songs for an entire week before anyone could figure out a counter- Charm, and there was something about talking animals in Magical Creatures class. And Gwynne told me about one Halloween when the four of them cast Anti-Gravity Jinxes all over the castle, so people would be walking down the hallways and would suddenly be upside-down on the ceiling." Tonks was smiling widely. She clearly wished her school days had included similar pranks.  
  
Bill and Charlie were laughing too hard to respond by the time Tonks had finished the list. When he'd finally caught his breath, Bill shook his head. "Fred and George have met their match," he said, and Charlie nodded, still laughing. "Who ever would have thought it was possible?" he asked.  
  
"Not me, for sure," Charlie replied. He thought about the portraits at Hogwarts, imagined them rapping for an entire week, and lost it again. "Can you imagine the Fat Lady rapping for a week?" he asked Bill.  
  
"Yo, yo, wha's the word, bros?" Bill managed, in a high falsetto, before both brothers lost it again, their heads on their arms on the tabletop. Morrigan and the twins came back while Bill and Charlie were still laughing, tears streaming down their faces.  
  
Morrigan looked at Tonks, who shrugged. "I was telling them about your portraits rapping," she said by way of explanation, and lifted her hands up in question, knocking her mug over. Charlie, still laughing, caught it before it tilted all the way over and spilled, put his head back down on the table, and laughed some more.  
  
"They're mental," George told Morrigan, pulling out her chair so she could sit down. Fred's eyes caught George's, enormously amused, when Bill's laughter caught in the middle, making him cough.  
  
"Merlin's beard, if you can't laugh correctly, you shouldn't get started," Morrigan said, pulling out her wand and waving it at him with a smirk. It shot coloured sparks this time, and had the effect of a good thump on the back; Bill's coughing stopped immediately. This only made Charlie laugh harder. "Had much to drink yet, has he?" she asked drily, and Bill could only grin, trying desperately not to start laughing again.  
  
"Can you imagine the Fat Lady rapping for a week?" Bill asked Fred and George, who started laughing along with Charlie.  
  
"You're all mental," Morrigan decided, without heat, looking around the table. "It's them, right?" she asked Tonks. This had the effect of making Charlie laugh so hard he would have fallen off his chair had Tonks not waved her wand at him. Of course, she finally managed to spill her mug in the process. This sobered Charlie up, as the contents of the mug ended up all over him. Still grinning, he waved his wand, and Tonks' mug set itself back on the table, full again. Another wave of his wand had his clothes dry again. He avoided Bill's eyes carefully as he managed to keep a straight face for a few minutes at a stretch. Then their eyes met, and they were off laughing again.  
  
"So Tonks, how about going for a coffee," Morrigan asked, and the laughter cut off instantly. Tonks grinned at Morrigan and Morrigan grinned back. "Right. So, why were you talking about the portraits?" Morrigan asked, interested.  
  
"Tonks was telling us about your.err.career at Caerdys," Charlie explained. "We were comparing it to the twins' careers at Hogwarts."  
  
Morrigan nodded, grinning. "Well, we never came up with a Portable Swamp," she said, sounding disappointed in herself, "but we did our best." Fred and George did their best to look modest. It was a dismal failure. No one minded at all.  
  
"Yeah, but the Colour Change Hex had to have been pretty good," Tonks pointed out.  
  
"It would have been better if we'd learned the counterjinx before our Head of House walked in," Morrigan said, her voice taking on a nostalgic tone. "She wasn't very happy. It turned her robes bright pink, and her hat orange. I'm still under death threat if I reveal what it did to her face."  
  
"Nice," Fred said admiringly. "What else?"  
  
"There were the Anti-Gravity Jinxes in the hallways one Halloween. Got a month of detention for that, scrubbing the Dining Hall. But it was worth it," Morrigan said with a grin and a sigh. "Once I could move my arms again, anyway," she added honestly. "Hmmm. We jinxed the mirrors in our Tower to reflect back images from other mirrors. So you'd see what was in someone else's mirror," she clarified. Then she made a face. "That one didn't last long. It was kind of gross. You wouldn't believe some of the things we saw." She gave a delicate shudder. "Then Nick came up with the idea of Charming the animals to speak German in Magical Creatures class. He got two weeks for that. And we used to Apparate from Maerview-it's right near the school, like Hogsmeade-during our sixth and seventh years. But we didn't get caught, thanks to Tris, so it wasn't all that impressive, I guess."  
  
Charlie looked at Bill. Bill looked at Charlie. Troublemakers, indeed. But none of that was the kind of thing you'd consider bad trouble, or even kind of bad trouble, to use Tonks' phrase. It was simple mischief, not malicious. It was impressive, but not particularly worrisome. Hardly the kind of thing that would inspire the guilty look in Tonks' eyes when she'd mentioned it. Hardly the kind of thing that would inspire anyone to clam up when questioned about it. They shrugged at each other and looked at the twins.  
  
"You could Apparate at sixteen?" Fred was asking, clearly jealous.  
  
"Well, I didn't say we were supposed to," Morrigan explained. "You know how that works-you're supposed to be seventeen and have your permanent license, but if you don't mess things up they have a harder time catching you, don't they?" She shrugged.  
  
Her voice trailed off and she seemed to be thinking about something. "Oh. Before one or the other of us forgets to say it. If you're ever in here and you see Mal or I looking.well, normal, I suppose, don't come over. We don't come to the Wands looking like ourselves, ever. We come here to hang out, rarely, but we're usually here for work. To meet a contact, to get information on a subject, whatever. And if we're here for work, we're being watched. So if you come over, you'll be watched, too."  
  
"Just so we're all on the same page, you look normal when you're red- headed?" Fred asked with amusement.  
  
Morrigan laughed. "Right."  
  
"Same with Malcolm?" George asked, smirking.  
  
"Same with Malcolm," Morrigan agreed. "Smart-asses," she muttered, and Fred and George burst out laughing. Morrigan started talking with Tonks about the last Weird Sisters show they'd been to, and the conversation moved on. The two women started arguing amiably about which song had been performed best, and had soon drawn everyone else into the argument, even though none of the men had been at the show. Bill found himself distracted by the way the twins constantly agreed with everything Morrigan said, how first Fred, then George, was begging to buy her a drink, how they'd sat her down between them and seemed to move closer to her every time he looked over.  
  
"Right, Bill?" Tonks asked, and he snapped back to reality, having no idea what she was asking about.  
  
"Sorry. Daydreaming," he said with a sheepish grin that made Tonks smile for no reason he could see.  
  
"You saw the Weird Sisters in Egypt," Charlie prompted.  
  
"Oh. Right. Great show," Bill said, nodding, and forced himself to ignore the other side of the table for a while. Concentrating on discussing the concert with Tonks, he missed Charlie raising an eyebrow at the twins. He also missed the twins giving Charlie a too-innocent look that had Charlie grinning and shaking his head with amusement.  
  
It was nearly midnight when the Carricks left, and though they all wanted to protest, no one said a word. Aware of what Malcolm and Morrigan had to do tomorrow, and unwilling to bring it up in such a public place, they simply waved goodbye as the twins made for the door, one at a time, and waved back.  
  
They seemed too good to be true, Bill thought. Smart, funny, good at Quidditch, good at magic. If anyone but Tonks had mentioned that there had been big trouble in the Carricks' past, he didn't know if he'd have believed it. What, he wondered, had the big trouble been?  
  
***  
  
Harry woke early the next day, well aware that today was the day the Carricks were heading to Azkaban. Ginny, using the Extendable Ears, had overheard a conversation about it two nights ago. Ever since she'd told them all, the idea of it had grown in Harry's head until it reached monstrous proportions. He couldn't ever remember being so afraid, at least not without also fearing for his own life.  
  
He lay in bed, listening to Ron's snores, and thought back to the previous afternoon, when he'd cornered Malcolm in the garden. He hadn't been willing to bring up Azkaban then, but knowing that Malcolm was going there, and knowing what might be waiting for him, he hadn't been able to stop himself following Malcolm around. Mal had gone out into the garden, and he'd trailed after his cousin like the world's worst spy, until Mal had turned to him, grinning, and asked what was on his mind.  
  
"What's wrong, Harry?" he asked, and something in his voice hinted to Harry that Mal was well aware of the Extendable Ears and how often they were used in Number 12 Grimmauld Place. He pushed that thought aside, and frowned at Mal. He was taking the whole thing far too lightly, in Harry's opinion. Without noticing it, Harry leaned on the ugly statue of the House- Elf, and blurted out the first thing that came to mind.  
  
"You're going after a Death Eater tomorrow. You might get hurt. Or Cursed," he said, and saw Mal's smile fade as he understood what was on Harry's mind. Harry had been referring to the Unforgivable Curses. Harry saw by Malcolm's expression that he understood this.  
  
"I might," he answered, nodding. "That's part of my job. You wouldn't get far as an Auror if you refused to take on the jobs where you might get hurt, or Cursed." His tone was light, but his eyes were very, very serious.  
  
Harry had no idea what his next question would be until it popped out of his mouth. "You could Curse them back, couldn't you?" he asked.  
  
Malcolm shook his head. "That's not how it works, Harry. You know that. You don't just go around throwing out Unforgivables. They're illegal for a reason, aren't they?" he asked gently.  
  
Harry hesitated. "I used one once," he said, even as his mind protested telling anyone anything so deeply secret.  
  
If Malcolm was shocked by this, he didn't show it. "Did you?" he asked. His tone invited Harry to go on and get it off his chest.  
  
Strangely, Harry found that he wanted to do just that. "On Bellatrix LeStrange," he told Malcolm. "After she and Sirius.I mean, after." He forced himself to say it, even as part of him cringed, "after Sirius died. I used the Cruciatus Curse on her," he added, remembering that he hadn't mentioned this before.  
  
"Didn't work too well, did it?" Malcolm asked, propping a disrespectful elbow on the outstretched hand of Salazar Slytherin, who scowled at him. He ignored this completely.  
  
Harry shook his head. "I mean," he added, "it hurt her. But only for a minute. She said-" he broke off, trying to remember what Bellatrix had said, "that I had to want to hurt her. That righteous anger wouldn't hurt her for long."  
  
Malcolm nodded. "She was right," he said simply. "That's one reason it's not an effective weapon for people who wouldn't normally use it. For one, it's extremely difficult to perform, and takes a lot of energy. And," he said, raising his eyebrows at Harry, "it takes a very particular person to be able to mean the Curse enough for it to hurt someone badly. Most people don't have the stomach for it, thank Merlin."  
  
Harry nodded. "I was really, really angry, though. I thought it would hurt her. I wanted it to hurt her."  
  
"Did you, really?" Malcolm asked, sounding politely curious, as though they were sitting down to tea and discussing a walk Harry had taken.  
  
Harry thought hard. He remembered wanting to hurt Bellatrix, wanting her to feel something of the pain he had been feeling at losing Sirius. He remembered her scream, and feeling triumphant.  
  
He remembered lying in bed after his talk with Dumbledore, feeling sick to his stomach for having wanted to hurt anyone so badly.  
  
"I did, at the time," he said slowly. "I really did want to hurt her. But after.well, afterward I felt sick."  
  
Malcolm smiled at him, and Harry realised that this was the answer he'd wanted to hear. For some reason, that made Harry feel better. "Sure you did," Mal said with a nod. "Because you're not the kind of person who goes around hurting people for fun. Under normal circumstances, you would never have thought to use a curse like that, would you?" he asked.  
  
Harry shook his head, and knew he was telling the truth.  
  
"That's why your Curse didn't work on Bellatrix," Malcolm said. "And that's why we wouldn't just go around throwing out Curses at Death Eaters. If we did, I don't know that we'd have much right to be bringing them to justice," he said reflectively, then shook his head as though to clear it.  
  
"So why didn't I get in trouble?" Harry asked. "I mean, it's an Unforgivable Curse. They should have taken me away, shouldn't they?"  
  
"They sure the hell should have," Malcolm said, surprising Harry. He looked at Malcolm, and his cousin met his eyes squarely. "But they didn't," Malcolm continued, "and I can't say that I blame them. You were in a situation you couldn't really handle, Harry. And you weren't thinking clearly. That's no excuse," he added with a frankness that was almost brutal, "but it's a reason.  
  
"I don't know that Fudge knew about it. If he had, you'd probably be locked up somewhere now. At the least, you'd have been expelled. But Professor Dumbledore certainly knew about it. And I have no doubt that if he felt you hadn't reacted the proper way, so to speak, you'd be paying for having done it now."  
  
"I guess he thought I was dealing with enough," Harry said, remembering Dumbledore using similar words in his office after the fight at the Ministry.  
  
"I doubt that," Malcolm told him bluntly. His tone was absolutely unsympathetic. "Everyone has problems to deal with, Harry. Everyone loses someone they love eventually. It's never a good enough reason to start throwing Unforgivable Curses around."  
  
Harry stared at Malcolm. He'd expected sympathy, or at least a little kindness. He'd expected Malcolm to shrug it off.  
  
Mal sighed. "Harry, look at what I do for a living. I put people in jail who use Curses like that. I know what those Curses do to people. You know what those Curses do to people. Do you really expect me to pat you on the shoulder and say it's all right?"  
  
When he put it that way, Harry thought, it sounded foolish. He shrugged uneasily.  
  
Malcolm's expression softened. "I'm not saying you're a horrible person, Harry. But if no one takes you to task when you botch things up, you might not think about it next time-not until it's too late. I've also seen what Azkaban does to people. And I don't want that for you."  
  
Harry sighed. "I just didn't think about it," he said softly. "I mean, it's not like I forgot that it happened or anything, it's just that I don't like to remember it."  
  
Malcolm smiled. "And who could blame you?" he asked simply. "Don't get me wrong, Harry. I know you've been through a lot, and you've come through it all remarkably well. But don't start thinking that because you've been through a lot, you're entitled to special treatment. You were damned lucky that Fudge didn't catch wind of it all. Can you imagine what would have happened? Can't you see the headline in the Prophet?"  
  
Harry could, suddenly-Boy Who Lived Curses Woman at Ministry. The mere thought of it made him a bit queasy.  
  
"Harry," Malcolm said, and their eyes met again. "You're too important to take stupid risks like that. You've been through a lot, but you'll suffer through more before it's all said and done." He sighed, and now Harry recognised the sympathy in Malcolm's eyes. "That's not meant to scare you. It's meant to make you understand, Harry. He marked you," Malcolm said, gesturing to Harry's scar, "because you're like him, but you're also unlike him. He saw you as a threat because of your differences.  
  
"One of those differences is your heart, Harry," Malcolm told Harry softly. "If you let it waste away, or let it be destroyed by hatred or bitterness or fear, you've already lost the battle. You have to fight those things as much as you have to fight Voldemort himself."  
  
Harry considered that, and thought that Malcolm might have a point. After all, last year had turned out terribly, and he'd spent nearly the entire year angry or bitter, or both. The two of them looked at each other and grinned. Pointing his wand at the statue of Salazar Slytherin, who had directed a distinctly obscene and rather undignified gesture at them both, Malcolm froze the statue's arms in place. Slytherin's face looked, if anything, even more outraged than before. Laughing, Harry and Malcolm walked back to the house for the afternoon's Potions lesson.  
  
***  
  
It was nine a.m., and the kitchen at Number 12 Grimmauld Place was unusually crowded, even for a Saturday. No one was eating; they'd already had breakfast and done the washing up. No one was talking; they were a little nervous, and the few attempts at conversation had ended up failing miserably. When the front door opened and closed, everyone in the kitchen tensed, looked around, and grinned uncomfortably. A few moments later, Morrigan entered the kitchen, followed by Malcolm, and they grinned at everyone.  
  
Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville looked at them, wide-eyed. Bill and Charlie, both drinking coffee, did their best to grin. Fred and George, unable for once to make jokes, simply watched as Malcolm, then Morrigan, headed over to the teapot. Moody scowled. Molly Weasley wrung her hands in her apron. Remus Lupin watched it all solemnly. The mood would have been tense enough without the news, from the morning Prophet, that a series of Death Eater attacks had left three Wizards in York, two in Oxford, and five in Truro dead. Suddenly, the prospect of a trip to Azkaban seemed far more serious than it had yesterday.  
  
"You can breathe, you know. It's actually recommended," Morrigan said as she poured herself a cup of tea, and everyone relaxed. When she turned around, she was grinning at all of them. "You know, it's really not that big of a deal. Not that I understand how you lot even know about it," she said, mock-severely, to Harry and the others. Ginny's ears burned bright red, ending any doubts Morrigan still have had about the use of Extendable Ears in Grimmauld Place.  
  
"Yeah," Ron said, doing his best to lighten the mood, "The paperwork's going to be awful. You should just stay here and play Quidditch with us." Morrigan grinned at him, and Malcolm laughed.  
  
"It's not something to take lightly," Moody grumbled, his glare making Ron wince a bit.  
  
"We're not taking it lightly, Moody," Morrigan assured him. "But we're not going to walk around like we're heading off to hell, either. We've got the plan. Quick trip in, quick trip out, done. Unless there's more there than we expect there to be, we won't be but a few seconds, and we've spent the week preparing for it, for Merlin's sake." She sighed when he continued to glare. "Come on, Moody," she said, and in what everyone else in the room considered a true act of bravery, walked over to him and pinched his cheek. "Give us a little smile, won't you?"  
  
The effect of this was, predictably, worse than the glare. On Moody, a smile was bad enough. A reluctant smile was particularly hideous. Everyone found something else to look at, and most of them ended up staring at Malcolm.  
  
"Don't look at me, it wasn't my idea," he said easily, making Harry laugh. After that, the dam was broken. Molly started fussing over the Carricks, wanting to make them breakfast, which they politely refused. Lupin came over and started talking to Morrigan and Malcolm about something that made them both grin at him, delighted. After finishing their tea, they sat down at the kitchen table, with the adults. Harry and his friends went outside into the garden, having been all but chased away by Molly Weasley, and spent a half-hour wondering what was going on inside the kitchen.  
  
"So the Ministry changed things on you at the last minute," Moody said with a frown. "How did that come about?"  
  
"MacInnes and Whiting called a meeting yesterday afternoon and switched things around. Told us they needed us to bring in someone who's a prime Death Eater suspect. They apparently have information suggesting he's been disappearing from sight every time the rest of the known Death Eaters are meeting. They've got some other evidence, too. Too much to go into here and now. So they're operating on the assumption that he's one of them in disguise." Malcolm's tone was neutral, as was his expression. His sister's was the same. If they had any doubts about what they were being told at work, they weren't revealing them here.  
  
"Who is he?" Moody wanted to know.  
  
"Turnbridge," Morrigan said. Lupin frowned. Moody scowled. Molly Weasley gasped. Her two oldest sons' faces went dark.  
  
"Right. Not your average simple arrest," Malcolm said.  
  
"Average simple arrest my arse," Moody growled. "He's responsible for nearly as many killings as Marshall is, and they pulled you off Marshall to get you into the office."  
  
"Right. We had a good teacher, Moody. We're not oblivious to the implications. Someone wants Turnbridge in London, don't they? And they want us to bring him in. But they know where he is. Anyone could have been drafted to arrest him. But they picked us. Why? Who the hell knows, at this point. But we're not unprepared."  
  
Moody's grunt might have been agreement, and it might have been annoyance. No one in the room, including the Carricks, was entirely sure. Morrigan changed the subject to ask who was going to be at the house that night. Seeming relieved by the opportunity to talk about something, anything else rather than Turnbridge, Molly Weasley started talking, a bit too fast and a bit too loud, until it was time for the Carricks to leave.  
  
At nine-thirty, the door to the garden opened again and Malcolm and Morrigan came out, followed by Fred and George. "Right, so we're taking off. Got some bad guys to chase after," Morrigan said cheerfully. Seeing Harry's apprehensive look, she gave him a one-armed hug, calculated to reassure without embarrassment. Harry's grin indicated that it had worked.  
  
"We'll see you back here later," Morrigan said. "We shouldn't be too late. Stop worrying, Harry. We know what we're doing, right?" He nodded, grinning at her, a little embarrassed but not minding too much.  
  
"Right, so, Ron," Malcolm said, pointing his wand at the garden and making the Quidditch field reappear. Ron looked up, wide-eyed. "Give them hell, right?" Malcolm winked at Ron, who beamed. Harry and Ron, on their brooms in an instant, took off for the far end of the field, followed by Neville, then Ginny and Hermione. Grinning at each other, the Carricks Disapparated.  
  
***  
  
He saw Morrigan block the Curse and he Disapparated as it deflected toward him. Malcolm Apparated silently right behind Turnbridge, and pointed his wand. "Stupefy!" he shouted. The Stunning Spell shot, brilliantly red, from his wand and caught Turnbridge unaware. He dropped like a rock in the middle of the clearing, and Morrigan wasted no time in binding him up in an Anti-Apparation jinx that prevented Turnbridge from escaping. Malcolm pointed his wand again and had Turnbridge floating toward him, cursing the whole time.  
  
Malcolm looked at his sister. There were a few bruises on her face, more on her arms, and the cut on her arm would need looking at, but all in all, she was in fairly good shape for what they'd been through. He had a few bruises himself, and his newest leather jacket was destroyed-that would teach him to buy Muggle clothes and wear them on the job, he thought with a grimace-but all in all, an hour-long chase and duel had come out all right.  
  
"So you'll take him in?" Morrigan asked. "And I'll head to the office and get the report done." Turnbridge scowled at them as Malcolm replied in the affirmative. Almost instantly, Malcolm was gone. At the same instant, Morrigan Disapparated toward Azkaban, sending a Cloaking Spell ahead of her.  
  
She knew the moment she left that it was a bad idea, but as she didn't fancy a swim in the frigid North Sea, or a splinch halfway through, she made the trip. As soon as she arrived, her Cloaking Spell already waiting for her, she Disapparated back to the Ministry and ended her Spell. Even that short time on the island, barely three seconds, was enough to tell her what she'd come to find out.  
  
A bit shaken despite having suspected the real situation at Azkaban, Morrigan headed to her desk and started writing up her report on Turnbridge's capture. She was halfway through when the back of her neck began to tingle. She turned casually, and saw Brent MacInnes standing there. She grinned at her boss, and swiveled her chair around halfway so she could see him better. "Brent. We just got back with Turnbridge. I wasn't sure whether you'd be in today or not," she said, smiling.  
  
He smiled back, but there was something about his expression that didn't ring true. Leaning against the wall of her cubicle, he watched the quill completing the last sentence she'd dictated, then his eyes returned to her. "Figured I'd stop by and see if you were both back yet."  
  
"Mal took him straight down to the new holding area," Morrigan said cheerfully. "So I came up here to get the paperwork done. It's easier without Mal offering suggestions that begin with 'And then the sorry bastard.'" She laughed. MacInnes laughed with her, but she still thought her boss' expression was a bit off. Vaguely threatening.  
  
"So what happened when you found him?" MacInnes asked. He had moved forward, and was standing much closer to her. Too close, she thought. Far too close. Her mind raced. She was effectively trapped. If he suspected that she or Malcolm had gone to Azkaban, making a move for her wand would confirm it. And if she wanted to do anything about MacInnes, she needed her wand. Part of her cover was that she was a 'normal' witch, and she worked hard to make sure that no one at the Ministry suspected the extent of her talent for wandless magic. Only a few people in the Ministry, Order members all, knew about her magic. MacInnes was not one of the few.  
  
"Well, he ran, didn't he? Just like we figured he would. Let's face it, Brent, if they gave up peacefully whenever we showed up, we'd all be out of jobs," she said, still grinning as her mind went through her options.  
  
She couldn't Disapparate, not from inside the Department. She couldn't throw a spell at him. A Memory Charm would work for in the short term, but could easily be broken. If she Stunned her boss she would be throwing away the cover she and Mal had worked so long to perfect, and she might well find out the hard way what was being done with prisoners these days. A Shielding Charm worked with her wand, if it was strong enough to shield her from what she was afraid he was about to throw at her, would deflect his spell back at him, which would give away the fact that she was on to him.  
  
Whatever he did, as long as it wasn't a Killing Curse, she was going to have to put up with. Fleetingly, her words to Harry ran through her mind: sometimes knowing you've made a choice makes it easier. She had a feeling that knowing she'd made a choice to take what came wasn't going to make it much easier.  
  
When the Cruciatus Curse came, she was prepared for it. Her mind was blocked off; everything she wouldn't reveal to him was deeply locked away inside her head. Even being prepared for it didn't prevent her from being knocked out of her chair with the force with which he delivered the Curse. Needles. Thousands of needles making her flesh scream. Pain digging in, taking hold, taking over. Great, racking waves of agony washed over her one after the other. How, she wondered, could your bones hurt? When the pain disappeared long minutes later, her muscles were aching with the need to spasm. She wouldn't let them. He looked into her eyes, and asked the question again. "What happened when you found him?"  
  
She ignored the question. Even if it hadn't been in her nature to resist giving information so brutally demanded, it was in her training to resist giving any information when it was being forced out of her. So she lay there, gasping for breath, and heard the word again. "Crucio!"  
  
Fighting only made the pain worse. She did her best to relax-as though that were truly possible when huge swells of agony were rolling across her body-and let the pain move through her. It didn't help. At least, if it helped, she didn't notice the difference. This time he let the Curse work longer than he had the first time. When it was over, she curled into a ball on the floor inside her cubicle, beside her overturned chair. Tears she refused to let fall shone in her eyes. He bent over her. "What happened when you found him?" MacInnes repeated, his eyes dark and cruel. Harder to ignore this time. She tried to contact Malcolm, concentrating every aching part of her mind on reaching his. On reaching him and telling him not to come up to the office. She was still trying when she heard him repeat the Curse for the third time. And the fourth. And countless times afterward.  
  
***  
  
Bill, Charlie, Fred, and George were at the Wands, having been ordered out of the house by their mother, who was marshaling a sudden rush of activity centered around making Number 12 Grimmauld Place sparkling clean. The four of them were of the opinion that that particular house was not likely to ever achieve the description 'sparkling', and Fred had been stupid enough-or smart enough, depending on your viewpoint-to have mentioned this opinion out loud. They had been ordered out of the house in the same breath that Ron, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville had been ordered to start cleaning.  
  
It was six o'clock, and they figured that they had another half-hour before the cleaning frenzy was over, so Charlie had just gone over to the bar to get the second-last round of drinks. They'd been in the pub for close to two hours, and had found it hard to resist talking about what was on everyone's mind-how Malcolm and Morrigan were doing. Bill was looking around the bar for any friends when, at the door, he caught a flash of bright red-gold hair. He swore. Bad news. She looked awful. If she was normally pale, now she was ashen. There were bruises on her face and on what he could see of her arms. She was walking unevenly, as if every step were an agony. She moved toward the back of the pub, to a table in a dark corner already occupied by two Wizards.  
  
He turned in time to catch Fred about to stand up. "Sit back down," he said, and the uncharacteristically curt order startled Fred into obeying. "Do you remember what she said yesterday? Don't go over to her if she shows up looking like herself. Do you want to get her killed? Or to get us killed?"  
  
"She doesn't look like herself, she looks like she's going to pass out," Fred argued, his eyes snapping fury at his oldest brother.  
  
"I know that, Fred. Put two and two together," Bill said softly. "If she looks like that and she's here, something really, really bad is going down. But we don't know what it is. I'm not saying don't be ready to help her. I'm only saying to wait until she asks for it, or we'll mess the whole thing up. We have no idea what's going on."  
  
Fred took a deep breath, sat down, and worked on getting calm. He knew damned well that Bill was right. He didn't like it one bit, though. George, though he hadn't moved, had the same expression on his face as his twin. Charlie and Bill, facing the room, were outwardly calmer, but both had their wands ready beneath the table.  
  
Fred started looking through the pockets of his robes as though it were the most important thing in the world. George, seeming to catch on, thrust his own hands into his pockets. Their brothers, momentarily distracted from the scene across the room, stared at the twins as though they'd gone insane.  
  
George looked relieved, and tossed something on the table. It looked like a long, flesh-colored string. Fred clapped his twin on the back, clearly ecstatic. Neither Bill's nor Charlie's expressions changed a whit.  
  
"Extendable Ear. New version," Fred said softly. He pointed his wand at the string and said, "Audius mobilus a Morrigan." The string separated into two pieces. The shorter piece, perhaps an inch long, stood itself up on end. As the four of them watched, the top of the short piece seemed to stretch, and little holes appeared in it. The longer piece of string began to move, a bit like the world's fastest worm, and slid across the table. In seconds, it was on its way over to the other end of the room.  
  
"If they notice it, it'll disappear," George assured his brothers. "We've been testing them for ages. It's the new model. It's only just in the store." He waited impatiently, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. The piece of the Extendable Ear that was still sitting on the tabletop, now looking very much like an old-fashioned Muggle telephone receiver, let out a squawk that had the brothers starting. Bill and Charlie did their best not to stare at it as they heard snatches of conversation from other bar patrons filtering through the Extendable Ear.  
  
It didn't take a full minute before they heard Morrigan's voice, weary and a bit irritated. "I'm just in here for a moment. I just couldn't seem to get it out of my head. I feel really sick suddenly, might be coming down with a summer flu or something. But I saw you here, and I thought it would be rude not to say hello."  
  
"That's bloody well amazing," Bill said, staring at his younger brothers. They grinned at him, then concentrated on the Extendable Ear again.  
  
Looking across the room, Bill saw MacInnes' mouth moving along with the words coming out of the Ear. "Good to see you. How did things go with Turnbridge? Did you have any problems getting him in?" Whiting leaned forward, staring hard at Morrigan. His expression was one of patently false concern. She didn't seem to notice.  
  
"He's a Legilimens. Whiting is. He's staring at her while MacInnes asks the questions," Bill reported softly, then looked away, and Charlie took over watching.  
  
"Merlin! I can't believe it's MacInnes and Whiting," Charlie said in a half-whisper. "They're two of the most senior Aurors in the Ministry, now Moody's gone," he added. Fred and George frowned.  
  
"Everything went fine. We showed up, we dueled, Mal brought him in and I went to write our report." Morrigan's voice seemed to be fading. "I really don't feel well."  
  
"He didn't give you any trouble?" MacInnes asked.  
  
"No," she answered, sighing. "He ran for it, of course, but that's nothing out of the ordinary."  
  
"And you took him right in to the Ministry?" Whiting asked. Charlie saw Whiting's eyes narrow with intense concentration as he stared at Morrigan.  
  
"Of course. That's what the memo said, the one from Fudge," she said. Her voice had taken on a tone of whiny irritation that was wholly believable given her physical state. She really did look sick.  
  
Whiting and MacInnes, Charlie noted, seemed well-satisfied. He saw Whiting nod at MacInnes. "Well, we don't want to keep you, Carrick. You look like you could use some rest. Really, do you want help home?" MacInnes asked. He sounded honestly concerned.  
  
"I'll be fine," she managed, and worked up as cheerful a good-bye for them as she could-it was clearly an effort-before turning away from their table.  
  
"When she leaves, don't so much as look at her," Bill warned, getting a good look at MacInnes' and Whiting's faces. If he'd ever seen two people more suspicious of a third, he couldn't remember the occasion. "Don't get up, don't follow her out, don't do anything," he said.  
  
Charlie nodded. "They're suspicious. And they're not the only people in the pub watching her. So don't do anything stupid."  
  
Fred and George, having realised how serious the situation was, simply nodded. Fred pointed his wand at the Extendable Ear and muttered a few words, and it disappeared with a soft popping sound as Morrigan started walking toward the street door. She never even looked at the Weasleys sitting at the table near the door. She only made it out the door on pride, Bill thought, and fought the urge to follow her out the door.  
  
The next fifteen minutes were some of the longest moments of their lives. They drank and smoked and did their best to look like they were having a good time. Whiting left, than MacInnes, then several other Wizards who had been watching Morrigan. Bill and Charlie did their best to memorise the faces. "Fred and George. Head for Grimmauld Place. Don't use the Floo," Bill said, ten minutes later. They made a show of looking at watches and going reluctantly, for which Bill would have given them a medal if he'd had one to award. Ten minutes after that, Charlie and Bill left. According to the plan they'd come up with after the twins had left, Charlie went after the twins. Bill went to the Carricks' apartment.  
  
He showed up in the living room, and Malcolm gave him a relieved look. "We need to get her to Grimmauld Place," he said, indicating Morrigan, who was barely standing.  
  
"Damn it, Malcolm, don't worry about getting me there, I'll get there myself. You've got to get there first.make sure they aren't using the Floo," she said hoarsely.  
  
"Fine. I'll go. You wait a few minutes and then come with Bill. If you try it now, there's no telling where you'll end up, Mor. You're a mess."  
  
"You're telling me," she muttered, darkly amused, as her brother Disapparated. She swayed on her feet, and Bill hurried over to steady her. She was really in bad shape. If she'd been pale in the Wands, she was now nearly colorless. She was trembling so hard that it was affecting her balance. "Thanks," she told Bill, sounding vaguely surprised, just before she collapsed entirely. He caught her before she hit the ground, and walked over to the couch with her. She was out cold, shaking as if it were winter.  
  
Bill's curse was soft and heartfelt. Unless his guess was very, very off, she'd been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse, and more than once. Nothing else would make you shake so badly while you were completely unconscious. He couldn't imagine how she'd made it through her twenty minutes at the Wands, how she'd made it back here at all, given the shape she was in now.  
  
Suddenly realising how stupid it was to be waiting for an unconscious woman who'd just passed out to wake up so she could Disapparate, he got out his wand, scooped her up in his arms, and Disapparated to Grimmauld Place.  
  
He knocked on the front door as best he could, and the door swung open immediately, his mother, wide-eyed with worry, stepped aside so he could make his way into the house. As soon as he'd gotten through the door, Molly slammed the door behind him and worked the locks with a speed born of fright.  
  
Bill carried her into the kitchen, set her down in a cozy-looking plush easy chair that had appeared near the hearth since the last time he'd been here, and stepped back so that Malcolm could get a good look at her. She was starting to come around, her eyelids fluttering uncontrollably. When her eyes finally opened, all it took was one look at her for Malcolm to come to the same conclusion Bill had.  
  
Malcolm swore softly, knelt down next to them and looked at her closely. "How many times, Mor?"  
  
She shrugged weakly. "Lost count," she said, in a voice that was shaky and entirely without her usual cheer. "They.were trying to." Her voice trailed off, and she started again. "Trying to find out about Turnbridge," she managed.  
  
Malcolm cursed again, went out the kitchen door, and headed to the living room. He came back with a bottle of Firewhiskey, Lupin on his heels, and closed the door and locked it. Molly cast a Silencing Charm and set about making tea. It was clear from her face that she knew no one would want any, but she needed something to keep her occupied.  
  
"I heard voices and figured you'd both returned-" Lupin stopped dead when he saw Morrigan leaning back in her chair, pale as chalk and shaking like a leaf in a high wind. His face darkened perceptibly, but he turned and looked around. Malcolm had stopped in the center of the room, apparently at a loss for what to do next, the bottle still in his hand. Lupin waved his wand and had glasses-eight of them-floating across to the table. Malcolm, as if waking up, poured, and handed the glasses around.  
  
After managing a drink or two Morrigan heaved a sigh. "Got a cigarette?" she asked, and three packs landed on the table in front of her. She took one with hands that were still trembling, and Charlie lit it for her.  
  
"It was MacInnes," she said finally, after a long drag on the cigarette. "We've got very big problems. Azkaban is empty. And MacInnes is on the other side." She sighed, and closed her eyes for a moment. She seemed not to know what to say next. After a long moment, something occurred to her, and she added, "So is Whiting."  
  
"Mor. What happened when I left with Turnbridge?" Malcolm said. Her pallor worried him, but now that he was reasonably sure that she wasn't hurt as badly as she might have been, he was calmer.  
  
"Went to Azkaban. Bad idea. Sent the spell out and as soon as I was leaving I knew it was a bad idea." Her sentences were fragmented, but considering how many times she'd heard the word "Crucio" today, she decided that getting the basic idea across would have to be good enough. "Could feel it. But once I left I had to go. Couldn't risk splinching or missing it altogether. So I went. Left for the Ministry as soon as I got there. Empty. Dead empty. No Dementors. No prisoners."  
  
"Were you there long enough to tell that there were no prisoners?" Lupin asked gently, and added more Firewhiskey to her glass. She gave him a grateful look and drank again.  
  
"South wall is completely blasted away. No way they could hold anyone there," she said. The others exchanged grave looks. It was worse, then, than they'd expected.  
  
"And when you got to the Ministry?" Lupin asked.  
  
"Went to write our report. MacInnes showed up. Seemed odd somehow. Leaning on the wall of my cubicle. Wanting to know what happened. Started to tell him. He got really close all of a sudden." She paused, looking exhausted. "He was too close. Threatening." She dragged on the cigarette again, and sighed. "And I knew what he was going to do. Couldn't do anything about it. Would have made him suspicious if he realised I knew it was coming. And if I defended against it we would have been lost," she said. Malcolm, understanding, nodded. The anger in his eyes, if anything, grew.  
  
"He Cursed you?" Lupin asked gently, sitting down in one of the kitchen chairs. Fred and George stiffened; they had known that she was in bad shape, but hadn't had any idea what had caused it.  
  
"Cruciatus. And in between every one, he asked what had happened. When we arrived at Turnbridge's house." She closed her eyes, trying not to remember. "Don't know how long-what time is it?" she asked. Her voice was fading.  
  
"Six-forty-five," Charlie answered, his voice dangerously soft.  
  
"I got there at five-fifteen. So I guess it was-" she paused, almost too exhausted to think "-about forty-five minutes. Didn't tell him anything." Her tone took on a strange urgency, and she repeated herself. "Didn't.tell. I'm not sure he expected me to. We're trained not to.say anything, if we're being forced." She leaned back, feeling too tired to go on. She pushed it, because they needed to know. They needed to warn the others. "I think he just kept doing it because he was having fun," she added. Her voice was barely a whisper. When her eyes opened, they seemed far too large in her pale face.  
  
"He let you go?" Malcolm prompted.  
  
"Memory Charm," she said softly. "That I could block."  
  
"Block and absorb?" Malcolm asked, raising an eyebrow. It was a difficult piece of wandless magic, and he couldn't imagine how much it had taken out of her to manage it after what MacInnes had put her through.  
  
Morrigan nodded wearily, her eyes closing again. "He thinks it worked. When the Charm was supposed to be working, he told me I had to meet him at the Wands. Bill and Charlie and the twins were there. Didn't.say hi. Sorry," she added irrelevantly, making Bill's lips twitch reluctantly.  
  
"Whiting was with him. At the Wands. He's a Legilimens," she said softly. It took an obvious effort for her to continue. "I showed him what he expected to see. What happened with Turnbridge, starting to write the report, and then just confusion. He's satisfied." She sighed wearily. "Need to sleep." Her head rolled to the side, and the glass slid out of her fingers. Malcolm caught it before it hit the ground. Bill thought she'd fallen asleep. Then her eyes opened again. "Went home first. Floo. Wanted him to think I was there. Don't use the Floo. They're watching it again." Her eyes closed, and her features relaxed as she finally let go and fell asleep. Bill could see her still trembling, her tortured muscles unable to stop their spasms.  
  
Malcolm, the Weasleys, and Lupin stared at each other, appalled by what they'd just heard. Lupin stood up after a moment, taking charge. "Mal, take her upstairs and put her to bed. She needs rest more than anything else right now. How she even managed to hold on this long is beyond me.  
  
"No one uses the Floo network. Not to talk, not to travel. Not for anything. Bill and Charlie, get hold of your father and as many people as you can reach. We need a meeting. I'll get in touch with Albus and Moody. Molly, if you could explain to Harry and the others what happened-Fred and George," he said as Molly hurried out of the kitchen. They nodded and followed their mother, who looked as though she might not make it up the stairs on her own. Malcolm picked his sister up and Disapparated upstairs with her. Bill and Charlie headed out to find their father and contact the other Order members.  
  
***  
  
When Malcolm entered the kitchen twenty minutes later, he saw that nearly the entire Order was present.  
  
"How is she?" Remus asked softly.  
  
"Asleep. She'll be fine, with a chance to rest," Malcolm said. A small smile curved his lips as he glanced upward. "I think the kids are sitting guard duty. I heard them sneaking down the hallway when I came downstairs."  
  
Remus grinned, but the expression did nothing to erase the worry on his face. "Well, at least it will keep them occupied," he decided, and Malcolm nodded in reply.  
  
At the sound of the front door opening, everyone in the kitchen turned toward the door expectantly. After the sounds of the door being re- locked filtered through the kitchen door, Minerva McGonagall, walked into the kitchen followed by Albus Dumbledore. Professor McGonagall's entire body, from the tips of her pointed shoes to her tightly-fixed bun, radiated an outrage that seemed to reassure the people already in the room. She settled into a chair with her accustomed regal dignity, her green robes swirling about her. Dumbledore chose the chair Morrigan had recently occupied, his features drawn in a preoccupied frown. Footsteps sounded from the hallway, moving up the stairs at a fast pace. After the usual Charms had been place on the door, Dumbledore began.  
  
"Severus has brought a Potion that should help her rest more easily," Dumbledore said to Malcolm, his voice gentle. Malcolm smiled his thanks and went over to lean against the kitchen counter between Fred and Charlie. Minerva McGonagall looked over, met Malcolm's eyes, and gave him a reassuring smile. He returned it, feeling better than he had a few moments ago.  
  
"Remus has brought us up to date," Dumbledore said. "So I suppose what remains is to bring the rest of you up to date." He looked around the room, saw that everyone was listening, and went on.  
  
"The Carricks, as most of you know by now, are Aurors with the Ministry. They were assigned to a new case yesterday. It was the case of Martin Turnbridge." Dumbledore's gaze, filled with sympathy, flickered over Arthur and Molly Weasley for a moment, then passed over Bill and Charlie before his expression regained its former composure. "They were told where to find Turnbridge, and instructed to bring him in to the Ministry today. So they went to find Turnbridge, and brought him in as instructed.  
  
"They also took the opportunity, having received my full approval, to investigate the situation at Azkaban. Once they had custody of Turnbridge, Malcolm brought him in to the Ministry, as instructed. Morrigan Apparated to Azkaban under a Cloaking Spell, then immediately returned to the Ministry to start on the paperwork resulting from their apprehension of Turnbridge.  
  
"While Morrigan was in her office writing her report, she received a visit from one of the more senior Aurors in the Department. He questioned her about what had happened during the arrest of Turnbridge. She began to explain, and he performed the Cruciatus Curse on her." Dumbledore paused, because the outraged gasps and sounds of worry were too loud for him to continue, for the moment. When everyone had quieted down, he went on. "He alternated interrogating her about Turnbridge's apprehension and Cursing her for quite some time, then, when it became apparent that she was not going to reveal anything to him, performed a Memory Charm on her.  
  
"She managed to block and absorb the Memory Charm without making it apparent to him, after which the senior Auror, who is an accomplished Legilimens, brought her to meet a colleague of his, who attempted to ascertain what had happened that afternoon using Legilimency. Morrigan, who has a talent for Occlumency that's quite rare, showed him what he wanted to see-the chase, the duel, the arrest, her trip to the Ministry, and her lack of memory regarding anything else that had happened since her arrival there. Apparently satisfied, he let her go. She went home, then came here, and is resting upstairs." Dumbledore paused again while murmurs went around the kitchen. "As you've been told, the Ministry is now watching the Floo network. The senior Auror watched the network while Morrigan used it to get home. We have to assume that it is being watched full-time now."  
  
"Which Auror was it?" Kingsley Shacklebolt asked, his face working angrily. Tonks, beside him, looked furious, and torn between running upstairs to see Morrigan and beating the living hell out of whoever had Cursed her.  
  
"MacInnes," Dumbledore answered softly. "And his friend Whiting." Clearly, this was a blow to both Shacklebolt and Tonks. They sat stunned while the discussion went on around them.  
  
"Why did she come here if the Floo network is being watched?" asked a voice from the far corner. Half the room turned to see Hestia Jones speaking. Murmurs of agreement could be heard from a few people in the kitchen. "Isn't she putting us at risk by coming here at all?" she asked. It was evident from the looks on several faces around the room that the normal, everyday risks that members of the Order took had just been brought home in a dramatic way.  
  
"Morrigan has more than enough sense to put us all at risk in such a manner," Dumbledore said, his tone holding the barest edge. It was enough, however, to silence Hestia Jones and those who had agreed with her quickly. They were silenced, Bill thought, but they were not convinced. They knew too little of the Carricks to trust them unconditionally, even on Dumbledore's word. They remembered Pettigrew's betrayal of the Potters, and of Sirius, too well for that.  
  
Dumbledore continued, his voice as weary as his eyes. He'd seen the doubt in some of the eyes watching him, and he knew he couldn't do any more to convince them at the moment. "She would have Apparated here on her own given a bit more time to rest, in order to be able to warn us that the Network was being watched and the Ministry was compromised. However, Bill Weasley and Malcolm were both at her apartment and they helped her get here." Dumbledore paused, then shook his head as though to clear it. "She sacrificed a great deal to warn us. Had she fought with MacInnes, she could have saved herself enormous pain, but would have ruined her cover and Malcolm's, which we need far more than they do." Dumbledore sighed heavily. The silence in the kitchen was thick as fog.  
  
***  
  
"We learned a Pain-Reducing Potion this week," Harry said finally, needing to do something for Morrigan, who was soundly asleep but moaning every so often as though in incredible pain. "We can go make some up, and ask Professor Dumbledore if it would hurt to give her some," he suggested. The hope this brought to the faces of Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and Neville was almost painful to see. Harry knew their expressions were no different than his own.  
  
"That won't be necessary, Potter," came a vaguely familiar voice from the doorway. They all turned to see Professor Snape standing in the doorway. Harry started, as did Ron and Neville. They hadn't recognised the voice, devoid as it was of its usual scorn when it addressed them. "Remus Lupin told us what happened. I have some Pain-Reducing Potion with me. Step aside please," Snape said, almost gently, and moved past his five students to wake Morrigan and administer the potion.  
  
Harry watched as Snape woke up his cousin, who smiled weakly at Harry, then at Snape, and took the potion, which smelled as foul as it had when they'd made it three days ago, without complaint. Snape, whose arm had gone around her shoulders in order to help her sit enough to take the draught, lowered her down on the bed gently. He squeezed her shoulder for a moment, an expression of mixed sympathy and support crossing his face quickly, and went to leave the room. At the door, he turned, his black robes sketching a circle in the air around him, and looked at Harry and his friends.  
  
"You'll be watching her, then?" he asked. Harry, remembering what Dumbledore had told him about Snape, seeing the dark circles under the man's eyes and the droop to his shoulders, nodded.  
  
"Should we get you if she wakes up, Professor?" Harry asked, fighting to erase everything from his mind but the worry about Morrigan.  
  
Snape didn't exactly smile, but his features relaxed a bit. His eyes, though, were as haunted as Dumbledore had suggested they would be. Harry wasn't sure how to feel about that. "I'm fairly sure she'll sleep through the night, Potter, but if she does wake up, just try to keep her comfortable until she drops off again." He turned and left, leaving more shock than fear behind him. "Any more of the potion would only hurt her in her condition."  
  
When they were sure he'd gone, the five of them traded glances. "Ooh, Harry," Hermione said in a whisper, brushing her long hair away from her face, "he looked terrible."  
  
Harry couldn't disagree with this, no matter how much he wanted to. He simply nodded. He remembered the sight of Snape, who looked far thinner and far more miserable than usual, and remembered Snape's voice, which had been almost gentle. Harry thought that, no matter how much he might want to deny it, Snape might have been suffering over what had happened at the Ministry like he himself had. Unable and, for now, unwilling to analyze the situation further, Harry sat down on the chair beside Morrigan's bed and waited, in case she did wake up.  
  
He wondered how Morrigan knew Snape. The smile she'd given him had seemed to hold more familiarity than seven months working for the Order would have given them. And Snape's answering smile had been downright friendly. Shaking his head, feeling too worried to drawn many conclusions tonight, Harry sighed and settled down in his chair, watching. 


	6. Making Changes

Chapter 06: Making Changes  
  
Standing at the top of the stairs, she bit her lip and thought about simply turning around and going back to the guest bedroom. She had never realised just how long the staircase at Number 12 Grimmauld Place was. How many stairs it contained. Just looking at it made her exhausted all over again. With a sigh, she started down the steps, trying hard not to count each one. Knowing how many there were only made it worse.  
  
The house was strangely quiet. She had a feeling that if anyone was around, they were in the kitchen. She had known instantly that Malcolm was not in the house; they weren't mind-linked, exactly, but she always knew if he was nearby. She suspected that he might have gone to the Ministry, to finish up the paperwork on their arrest. It was just one more way of making sure their cover held; they would never have let an arrest report sit unfinished over the weekend, not if they had brought a prisoner into custody. Malcolm's presence didn't alarm her. Still, she found it a bit odd that, in the two hours she'd been awake and working up the energy to get out of bed, no one had come upstairs. Odd, and unsettling. She wondered what was going on.  
  
When she got to the kitchen door, she found it locked and Charmed. Sighing, she went into the living room and sat down on an enormously uncomfortable sofa. She supposed that she could have unlocked the door and removed the Imperturbable Charm. She knew that, had she done it, the effort might have had her passing out in the hallway. She settled down in the corner of the sofa to wait. In less than 10 minutes, she was asleep.  
  
She woke up to find herself the subject of quite a number of stares. Some-Harry's, Remus', Bill's, the twins', Ginny's-were concerned. Some were carefully neutral-Arthur Weasley's, Charlie's, Hermione's, Neville's. The others were frankly suspicious. This category was far larger-Molly Weasley, Ron, Hestia Jones, and about ten people she knew by sight but couldn't match names to at the moment. "Sorry," she said, feeling distinctly wrong-footed. "I came downstairs but the door was locked and Charmed, and I didn't want to intrude." She felt herself flushing, and cursed her fair skin silently as she looked back at them.  
  
She wouldn't have minded intruding, but hadn't had the strength to manage it, Bill suspected, looking at her. She was as pale as she had been the day before, and looked as if the trip downstairs had nearly done her in. Despite the blush and the strange gleam in her eyes, she looked fragile, as though a simple touch would shatter her completely. He was about to speak, but his mother beat him to it.  
  
"Did you want some breakfast then, dear?" Molly asked. Her tone was perfectly polite, but her eyes were cold. Morrigan fought the urge to shiver. She looked down, unable to meet their eyes.  
  
"No, thanks," Morrigan answered. Her face had lost whatever vitality it had held before Molly spoke. She'd heard the suspicion behind the politeness, just as she'd seen it in their eyes. She knew where things stood now. She knew she was the intruder. The outcast. Bill saw the knowledge in her eyes, and felt for her. "I suppose I should be heading home. There's probably a bit left for Mal and I to clear up, and I'd only be in the way here."  
  
None of the members of the Order contradicted her, but Remus moved forward to help her up, and Bill moved with him. "We'll help you home, then," Lupin said, his voice gentle. "You're exhausted, and it's a bit of a trip."  
  
"Upstairs first, to get your things?" Bill asked her, his eyebrows raised. She nodded. He and Lupin Disapparated upstairs with her. Harry and the twins raced up the stairs after them, Fred and George apparently so shaken up that they entirely forgot that they could have Apparated. Molly Weasley moved to stop them. Her husband put a hand on her arm, and shook his head. The protest in her eyes never made it past her lips.  
  
***  
  
"There were more attacks this morning, and from what we've managed to find you're your bosses from the Ministry were there. We'll talk more when we get to your place. Inverness?" Lupin asked her, and she nodded weakly, slipping the black robes she'd worn the day before over her jeans and t- shirt, and picking up the backpack she normally carried. She was too tired to try and put it over her arm. The knowledge that she had gone from one of the Order to one of the suspects in the space of a few hours exhausted her. It was so little time to have lost peoples' faith.  
  
Harry and the twins crowded the doorway, looking on in silence, until Harry couldn't keep quiet any longer. "You can't leave," Harry told her angrily. "They're wrong. You can't let them toss you out like this." But he noticed that she wasn't meeting anyone's eyes. Even after a week, he knew her well enough to realise how uncharacteristic this was, and it made him uneasy.  
  
He had spent the last week feeling as though he had finally found a way to control the past months' cycle of grief and rage. The expression on Morrigan's face was causing the control to give way. He didn't want to believe that she had lied to him. He didn't want to think that his cousin had betrayed anyone. Certainly, he didn't want to believe that she had betrayed him. But her face...he couldn't get past the look on her face.  
  
She smiled wearily at him, and sat down on the edge of the neatly made bed. He walked over and sat beside her without waiting to be invited. "Harry, it's not always possible to change peoples' opinions. Sometimes you have to accept that they aren't going to think the way you do, and find a way to work around that fact." She sighed when his green eyes simply stared at her, angry and hurt. She lowered her head to rest on his for a moment. "If I stayed here for the next twenty years arguing with them, they wouldn't believe me. Or believe in me," she added. "And the last thing the Order needs with open war breaking out is to be split down the middle. If we're not together, we're lost. So, though I won't stop working for the Order and working with you-if that's what you want-I can't stay here while I do it." Something flashed through her eyes, something like guilt, and Harry tried his best to ignore it.  
  
"It's wrong," he said stubbornly. "And it's not fair."  
  
She laughed, but the sound of it was sad rather than amused. For a moment, she looked far older than her 28 years, and enormously sad. "Maybe, maybe not. In any event, it's what is. And there's no point in pretending any differently." She still wouldn't meet his eyes. Her fingers drummed nervously on her jeans-clad thighs.  
  
"You weren't a Death Eater," Harry stated, hoping that he was right. Her head came up and her eyes finally met his. He knew a guilty expression when he saw one. He tensed.  
  
"No, I wasn't," she agreed. "But I nearly was. And they're right to be wary of that. Especially now that my bosses are joining the other side."  
  
The control he'd found over the past week simply shattered. It wasn't just the fact that she'd lied to him. It wasn't just the fact that she had pretended to be good and kind and nice. It wasn't just the fact that she had told him all about Sirius and his father in order to gain his trust. It was all that, combined with a sense of betrayal that was too enormous for him to comprehend. She'd helped him deal with the anger and the hurt and the grief, had helped him get it under control. And now he'd lost that control. It seemed, he thought later, as if all of his rage had been growing under the surface of control, increasing stealthily, simply waiting for the opportunity to let loose. He went from disbelieving to furious in the space of a moment. The force of her betrayal pounded in his head, beating away his control.  
  
Harry's eyes darkened. "You never said anything about Death Eaters or anything. You walked in here and pretended that you were one of us," he said, standing up and turning to stare at her furiously. "You." He trailed off, the anger far too intense, far too huge for words to get past for a moment. "No wonder you said that Snape wasn't as bad as I thought he was. You're no better than he is." His eyes were overbright, shiny with unshed tears. "I believed in you," he hissed. The rage nearly overcame him. He was afraid that he might hit her. Giving her a look so sharp his eyes seemed to cut her, he ran out of the room. She closed her eyes. Heard a door slam down the hall.  
  
Remus was walking out of the room after him, anger darkening his features, when she called him back. "Moony, you can hardly blame him," she said, her voice flat. Dead.  
  
"The hell I can't blame him," Remus said, his eyes snapping with outrage. "He's old enough to know by now that nothing is black and white." He looked, for a moment, ready to charge off to battle. She sighed, and when his eyes returned to her, he seemed to shrink a bit, the anger leaving him. They were both right, but arguing about it right now would solve nothing.  
  
She shook her head. "Let it go, Moony. He has a point. I didn't tell him. Because I was afraid he'd do exactly what he just did. He has enough to deal with at the moment. Yelling at him for losing his temper won't help right now. Certainly not while I'm still here."  
  
Morrigan looked up at Bill. "You don't have to go," she told him. "Your family isn't really likely to applaud you for it, and-"  
  
"Cut the crap, Morrigan," he said, shaking his head at her. "Maybe you can tell Harry they're right to be suspicious, but it's not going to convince me. I saw what you went through yesterday. And if you were the kind of person who really valued what they have to offer, you never would have made it to the Wands last night. You would have given in and told them what they wanted to know once MacInnes started in on you."  
  
"Spot on," Fred said, walking over to stand next to his brother. George was next to him in an instant, nodding. "So, where are we headed?" Fred asked Lupin. Lupin told them all as he and Bill helped Morrigan up off the bed. The spare bedroom was empty an instant later.  
  
***  
  
They arrived at the Carricks' house in Inverness-or, rather, near Inverness. The house was certainly bigger than the Weasley brothers had expected, closer to a manor than a home. When they Apparated in front of massive double doors, Morrigan pointed her wand, and they went inside quickly. She shut and locked the door behind them, and led them into the Great Room. Out the diamond-paned front windows, Loch Ness, framed by trees, sparkled darkly in the midday sun. Morrigan sat down on a small sofa near the windows. Bill sat at the other end of the surprisingly comfortable couch, and Lupin and the twins sat across from them on a larger sofa.  
  
When she insisted on hearing the latest news, Lupin gave her a brief version of the events from that morning's Prophet-attacks in six towns had left twelve more Witches and Wizards dead. And the Order had learned-it was unspoken, but understood, that the Order had learned this from Severus Snape-that MacInnes and Whiting had been along on at least two of the attacks. She took the news without commenting, but she had gone even paler, and Bill was grateful that she was sitting down, as he thought she might have passed out had she been standing.  
  
After a few moments of silence, George spoke up. "Right. I know it's terrible, and we'll deal with it later. Merlin knows we can't wave a wand and make that all better. So let's talk about what we can deal with. Like why have they stopped trusting you all of a sudden, just because your bosses are mad?" George asked Morrigan.  
  
"Right," Fred added, nodding, "I want to hear the whole story."  
  
She sighed, nodded, and got her cigarettes out of her backpack. "Want tea, then?" she asked. Fred and George nodded, and were about to stand up and get it when she shook her head at them. She waved her wand in the direction of the kitchen and said, simply, "Tea." Eyes wide, the twins watched as a tray holding a tea kettle, mugs, sugar, cream, and lemon floated toward them and set itself down on the table.  
  
"That's not a spell," Fred pointed out, raising a brow at her.  
  
"Malcolm's idea. He gets too impatient to summon everything separately, so he cast a Summoning Charm on the whole set and somehow taught it to assemble itself and make tea." She shrugged, but a smile ghosted across her face.  
  
"So," George began, once he and Fred had made a production of pouring out and handing everyone tea whether they wanted it or not, "You were saying."  
  
"Or I was about to say, at any rate," Morrigan agreed, and sighed again. "The whole story starts with wandless magic. The kind I have is different from what an ordinary Witch would have."  
  
"Right, because of the Elf thing," Fred put in. Looking like she would have grinned but for the circumstances, Morrigan nodded.  
  
"Because of the Elf thing," she agreed. "The big problem with my magic, when I was growing up, was that no one else had anything like it, and very few people knew how to control it. So I never really learned the most important things about my magic, which are control, and focus.  
  
"Elven magic is different from ordinary magic in a lot of ways. There is no Dark and no Light in Elven magic. It comes from nature, which has no good and no evil. Everything is what it is. It's what you use it for that makes it good or evil." She blew smoke toward the window, nodding at it, and the handles near the sill cranked themselves, opening the window on their own. "In other words, I was a kid who had next to control over her magic and little more focus, in charge of a power that could be good or bad depending on how it was used. Bad combination," she summarised wryly.  
  
"It wasn't so bad at first, because our Da-" here her voice tightened ever so slightly-"helped us with Wizard magic, and that's what we used. For Mal, it worked out well, because though he has more than a touch of Elven magic, he doesn't have enough for it to do much more than boost his power.  
  
"I was the problem child." Her laugh was soft but harsh, and entirely without humour. "I ended up with a walloping dose of Elven magic, and when you're not brought up around Elves, that's big trouble. It doesn't usually show itself right away, according to our grandmother. But eventually, if your magic is strong enough, it'll start popping out all over the place. That's why the control and the focus are so important. And that's why Elves learn it almost as soon as they're old enough to speak.  
  
"Well, my magic started showing itself-strongly enough for me to notice, anyway-when Mal and I were at school. I'd always been able to do wandless magic, but before that it had been smaller things. Anya-that's our grandmother-said that it was likely that my Elven magic had been working through my wand until the point that it got strong enough to break out on its own. All I'm sure of is that it waited until we were at school to show itself strongly, and that was not such a good thing. I mean, you're at school where everyone's doing magic all the time, and you find out you have this cool new talent. Are you really going to tell your parents or your family all about it, or are you going to try and figure it out for yourself?"  
  
"Hell, that's easy," George said heartily. "You use it for all it's worth." The gleam in his eyes suggested that using such a talent for, say, homework, would be the equivalent of a major crime.  
  
Morrigan smiled tiredly. "Exactly. And along the way, you get the idea that it might be a bad thing to point out to your family that you're still trying to figure out how to control it. They might put the brakes on it all." The twins both nodded, understanding that perfectly. "And you hide it, pretending to use your wand, so no one interferes," she said. The twins nodded as though this made perfect sense.  
  
"So fast-forward to the summer between our sixth and seventh years. Mal and I had three very close friends that we always spent every summer with. You've met two of them, Nick and Gwynne. Keith was the third." Her eyes went dark with some memory, and cleared slowly. Very slowly.  
  
"Keith's parents were Death Eaters, though they weren't exactly open about that little fact," she explained. "He and I were dating that summer, and I ended up spending a lot of time at his house, just hanging around."  
  
If that was true, Bill thought irrelevantly, Keith had either been the world's slowest mind or a eunuch. He looked over at the twins, and saw that they were thinking along the same lines. He wasn't sure he'd wanted to know that, and he reached for his cigarettes to distract himself.  
  
"The five of us were close, and most of our parents were close. Our Da," she said, her face getting that tight look again, "wasn't around enough to really know our friends' parents at all. So we spent most of our time making our friends' parents crazy. They didn't seem to mind. But, like I said, I spent most of that summer at Keith's house, with him and his parents.  
  
"Keith's parents were the cool parents in our group. They didn't care about curfews or troublemaking or any of the things most parents go nuts about. And they encouraged us to mess around with magic. They were always wanting us to try this or that, and they never failed to tell us how good we were when we managed something particularly tricky."  
  
Bill, who could see where this was going, felt a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. His eyes met Lupin's, and Lupin nodded almost imperceptibly. Bill blew smoke toward the window to mask a sigh. He wished there were a way for her to tell the story without having to relive it. What had been done to her was ugly enough without that.  
  
"I didn't notice it, when things changed. I was too caught up in hearing how terrific I was to realise that we'd gone from trying something fun here and there to doing serious work. I didn't think about why it was wrong to be summoning documents from people's houses and banishing the parchments to other places. Oh, they had all sorts of little tricks for me to try, but stealing the documents was the worst of them.  
  
"I was too involved in proving that I could be even better, even more praiseworthy than I had been the last time. And when people started being hurt by the documents that were turning up in the wrong places, I turned a blind eye. Because people I didn't know weren't as important to me as my ego.  
  
"So the inevitable time came around when Keith and his parents sat me down and asked me to come on over to their side of things. By that time, Voldemort had been gone for-I don't know, maybe five years?-and they were careful to keep their loyalties underground. But they trusted me with it, and idiot that I was, I was flattered.  
  
"I wish I could say I turned them down flat. I didn't. I seriously considered going along with them. It didn't seem all that bad, not the way they described it. I mean, they weren't really hurting anyone, just making trouble for people they disagreed with. And they always made me feel so good about any little thing I could do. It seemed like a pretty good deal, really. A few weeks later they asked me to join them, officially. I thought about it, really thought about it for the first time in three months of working alongside them, and couldn't go along with it.  
  
"See, I should have known better all along. There shouldn't have ever been a question in my mind. My Mum was killed by Death Eaters. So were my Carrick grandparents. My Da dedicated his entire life to fighting them. My Donovan grandmother stayed married to a man she loathed in order to protect Mal and I from one. So I knew better. I suppose that, in the end, that's why I turned them down.  
  
"That's when they got nasty. They threatened to hurt my Da, and Mal, and Nick and Gwynne, if I didn't go along. By that time I was starting to realise just what I'd helped them do, and I had no idea how to get out of it." Morrigan leaned forward, crushed her cigarette out, and immediately lit another one. "So I went along, for a little while longer. Merlin only knows how long that would have gone on had they not made a huge mistake. Keith invited Mal over to work on our summer homework, and they tried to hold Mal hostage for my agreement to sign up for good."  
  
"Didn't go so well for them, did it?" Bill asked, and, startled, she looked at him. She could barely meet his eyes. She looked back down quickly, but shook her head in the negative.  
  
"It went rather badly for them, actually. All it took, for me, was one look at Mal, tied up and beaten half-unconscious with Curses, and that was that. I'm not positive they even knew what was happening. I'm not even sure I knew. One moment they were standing there, the three of them, laughing at Mal and looking at me as if they'd won. They had both of our wands. The next, they were all tied together, gagged, and half-screaming in pain. It was a Bloodfire Curse," she said softly, eyes darkening again at the memory, "but I hadn't used my wand. It was the first really focused, entirely wandless magic I ever did." She sighed. "Not a particularly wonderful first lesson," she said darkly.  
  
"At any rate, Mal and I got ourselves home and got hold of our grandmother. She got hold of our father, and he took care of Keith and his parents. We.had a talk. I spent the last three weeks of summer with her, learning all about how to control my magic. And when we got back to school, Mal and I both settled down. Cut out the troublemaking-well, mostly-and studied harder than ever. And things seemed to have corrected themselves.  
  
"The trouble wasn't quite over, though. When you use Elven magic for selfish purposes, you open up a door. And the door is very hard to shut. You see, the power always wants to escape. You can close the door on it most of the way, but never all of the way. It's always open just enough for you to remember how good it felt to work the magic."  
  
She paused for a moment, and forced herself to say it. "They're right to worry. The pull is very strong these days."  
  
The room fell silent. Unlike the silence she'd woken up to at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, this silence wasn't awkward. Wasn't accusing. It was simply thoughtful.  
  
Comforted by that, she didn't fight very hard when sleep started tugging at her mind. She was already asleep when her body slid sideways, coming to rest against Bill's arm. He looked down, realised what had happened, and grinned at her involuntarily. Then he looked at the twins, who were smirking at him as though they'd been waiting for this to happen for ages. His eyes threatened retribution, but he had no desire, at the moment, for immediate revenge. She was soft and warm against his side, and despite the insanity of the last twenty-four hours-or maybe because of it-he simply didn't feel like giving that feeling up to take on the twins. At least, not yet.  
  
He and Lupin talked about Lupin's new job in Muggle London. It was still difficult at best for Lupin to find a job in the Wizarding world, due to what Bill, the twins, and Lupin felt was the Ministry's inordinately harsh werewolf policy. Dolores Umbridge's removal from Hogwarts might have benefited the students, but it had not yet benefited many others in the Wizarding World. The werewolf legislation she'd help draft was still in full effect. With the Second War already in its beginning stages, and given the fact that werewolves had flocked to support Voldemort in the First War, it was unlikely that the legislation would be repealed anytime soon. Philosophically, Lupin had decided, rather than wait for changes which were unlikely at best, to find employment elsewhere.  
  
In Bill's opinion, and in that of the twins, it was a horrible waste for Lupin to be tending bar rather than teaching. If Lupin felt the same way, he wasn't admitting to it. He seemed to welcome the chance to escape the Wizarding world and, Bill suspected, memories of the good friend he'd so recently lost. In view of the way most of the Wizarding world treated known werewolves, and having seen over the past year how close Lupin's friendship with Sirius had been, Bill couldn't say he blamed Lupin for the choice he'd made. At least, Bill thought, Lupin seemed to be making enough money to survive on, which was better than he'd been able to do last year. And, strangely enough, Lupin's job in the Muggle world put him in a good position to hear a great deal of news that was helpful to the Order.  
  
Bill and the twins decided to stop by the pub where Lupin was working the next night, a plan that Remus agreed to with unusual enthusiasm. While they were discussing anything and everything they could think of that had nothing to do with the Order, Bill became aware that his arm was draped over Morrigan's shoulders, preventing her from slipping to the side. He doubted he would have noticed but for the smirks which once again decorated his brothers' faces. Stifling the urge to pound them both within an inch of their lives, he did his best to focus on the questions Lupin was asking them about the Diagon Alley branch of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. It didn't work too well, but the twins had apparently decided not to make an issue of their oldest brother's lapses in concentration.  
  
When Malcolm arrived an hour later, his eyes passed over his sister, asleep on Bill's shoulder, and he seemed amused but said nothing. Bill was grateful. The looks he'd been getting from Fred and George were bad enough. He thought he'd seen Lupin biting his lip against a grin several times, and that had been worse. Had Malcolm said even one word, Bill would have really wanted to leave. But he didn't think he would have. He was just too comfortable where he was.  
  
Remus Lupin looked at Malcolm questioningly. Malcolm nodded. Things at the Ministry, then, had gone as expected. While this was a relief, it didn't change the fact that the Order was facing a serious crisis. It was divided, some of it on the side of the Carricks, most of it against them, and the War had started in earnest. No one was much looking forward to the meeting that night. They talked for most of the afternoon, avoiding the subject like the plague, while Morrigan slept.  
  
***  
  
After Morrigan had awakened and gone upstairs to shower and change, Lupin headed off home for a while, and Bill, Fred, and George worked out how to deal with their mother when they returned to Number 12 Grimmauld Place. After they'd come to a decision, Bill headed to the kitchen to tell Malcolm that he was going back to Headquarters. Fred and George had headed outside for a while, never having seen Loch Ness up close. He stopped short when he heard low voices, heated, coming through the doorway.  
  
"It's for the best, then." The words were nearly hissed in an attempt to keep them quiet. They held anger, and some other emotion Bill couldn't put his finger on. The voice was clearly Morrigan's.  
  
"You can't do that. Mor, you know damned well why you can't do it." Malcolm's voice, a bit louder and far angrier. "It's too bloody dangerous for you. If they find you out they'll be gunning for you from both sides. You know how strong the pull has been lately. You can't risk it, Mor."  
  
"What else can I do? I can hardly work with the Order now, can I?" If Bill hadn't known her, if he hadn't seen what she had gone through the day before, he would have been made very, very nervous by the bitterness in her voice when she spoke of the Order.  
  
"He won't let you do it," Malcolm said. Then came the sound of something hitting wood, hard enough to crack it. "He'd better the hell not let you do it," Malcolm corrected himself. He sounded furious. "There's no need for it. Not yet."  
  
"You can't wait until you need it, you know that, Malcolm." Her voice was softer, less angry. "Do you think we'll just be walking in there and asking if they mind?"  
  
Silence. "Dammit, Mor, it's not the same for you as it would be for me."  
  
"Right. First of all, they haven't bothered to approach you. And you know damned well why." Morrigan's sigh was loud enough to come through the door. "Remember Keith, Mal?" She laughed. It was not a pretty sound. "It'll never go away," she said softly, and sighed again.  
  
"They've got no reason to think you're less trustworthy because of that," Malcolm argued.  
  
"Don't be an idiot, Malcolm. Of course they do. Just as the Order does," she pointed out. "Just as Harry does." For a moment, on Harry's name, her voice trembled. "We don't have an option, Mal. Not now. There's no way I can do anything for the Order. Dumbledore at his strongest won't convince most of them now. If they don't trust me, they don't trust the information I can bring in."  
  
"You can't work with them, Mor." Malcolm's voice was determined. Bill knew he wasn't talking about the Order. "Not now. Not when the pull's so strong."  
  
"I don't see how I can avoid it, pull or no pull," she said with quiet resignation. "We'll find out soon enough, won't we?" she asked, and Bill heard her stand up.  
  
"We're not done discussing this," Malcolm said, his tone holding a warning.  
  
"Are we ever really done discussing anything, the two of us?" Morrigan asked, weary amusement in her tone.  
  
"There's a meeting tonight," Malcolm said, and his voice got louder, accompanied by footsteps approaching the door. Bill headed back to the front room, and sat down on the sofa, his mind whirling.  
  
"Hey. Had enough of the view yet?" Malcolm asked, raising an eyebrow at Bill, who grinned. From Malcolm's expression, he knew damned well that Bill had been standing outside the kitchen door. From Morrigan's, she hadn't a clue.  
  
"I was just thinking about heading back to Headquarters. Meeting tonight," Bill said with a sigh. "And, of course, we've got to try and work on Mum." As if the question had just occurred to him, he added, "Going to the meeting?"  
  
"I'll be there," Malcolm said, nodding and sitting down on the other sofa.  
  
"Don't look for me there," Morrigan said, looking tired. It wasn't quite an answer.  
  
"You know, you're still a part of things," Bill told her. She gave him a half-smile.  
  
"Well, I can't imagine that the discussion that's going to go on tonight would in any way be made easier by my being there," she said. "You're too intelligent not to know exactly what they're going to be talking about. And I don't think it's fair to the rest of them if they feel like they shouldn't air their opinion just because I'm sitting right in front of them."  
  
Bill's expression did little to hide his dissatisfaction with that idea. "Bugger them," he said bluntly, and was rewarded with the sound of the first real laughter he'd heard from her in twenty-four hours.  
  
"In most cases, a pretty unattractive idea," she said, still grinning. "Still, the Order can't work if it's fighting among itself, can it?" she asked. Bill hated having to agree with that. He really hated it. So he didn't respond at all.  
  
"I'm still working on getting her there," Malcolm said, his tone indicating that he expected to win her over eventually. Bill doubted it.  
  
***  
  
Bill was proved right, in the end. There were four unexpected people at the Order meeting that night, but none of them was Morrigan.  
  
"This is Gwynne Petersen, Nicholas Chapuys, Tristan Hollis, and Alhena Farrell," Dumbledore said after their arrival had thrown the Order into momentary confusion. Gwynne, Nicholas, and Tristan all nodded to Bill, Charlie, Fred and George. Alhena, who only came up to Tristan's shoulder, was a timid-looking Witch with sun-streaked brown hair and dark brown eyes. She was caught between surprise and anxiety at having been made the center of attention, even for a moment. Bill felt sorry for her, showing up on a day like today. Half of the people in the room seemed to be looking at her three friends and her as though they were carrying signs proclaiming "Voldemort for Minister of Magic."  
  
"They are from Caerdys, in Wales." Dumbledore paused as he looked around the room, and noted the displeasure that this statement caused. "Arthur Weasley, Alastor Moody, and I have had several long discussions with all four of them. They are going to help us set up the information network for the children, while they are at Hogwarts.  
  
"Tristan is working on a headquarters for them, a kind of safe house. We will not be divulging its whereabouts to anyone, as a sort of double safeguard. What we will say is that the headquarters, like this one, will be protected by a Secrecy Charm, and will only be used for very brief periods, at times when it would normally accessible to the children. There won't be any wandering about the corridors after hours," Dumbledore said. Bill carefully concentrated on not looking at Charlie or the twins. He knew, as they did, that the junior Order's headquarters wasn't going to be in Hogwarts Castle. Apparently Dumbledore didn't want to eliminate that as a possibility in the minds of the Order, for his own reasons.  
  
"Gwynne, Nicholas, and Alhena will be working with the children, here and at school. They're going to be tutoring, along with Malcolm, when he has the free time. The four of them will be assisting with the junior Order as well, but as I've said, that will not consume much of their time. Our biggest concern, as we've all discussed, is to get the children some kind of information so that they don't feel like they have to try and find it themselves. Anything the junior Order is to be told will be cleared through me, or our Fidelius Charm will restrict its being told at all." Dumbledore said this, and expressions of relief spread through the room. Bill noticed that his mother's was chief among those, and stifled a sigh.  
  
"Are you all certified to tutor?" Molly Weasley asked, her tone a bit suspicious, and Charlie and Bill looked at each other, then rolled their eyes. It had been too much to hope for that their mother would take Dumbledore's word for the newcomers' qualifications.  
  
"Well, I'm twelve years out of school," Tristan offered politely, "and I was an assistant to Caerdys' Potions Master for six of those years, before I moved here. "I've lived in Hogsmeade for the past six years, and I work at the apothecary's there."  
  
"Nick and I have been out of school for ten years, and we work as Mediwizards attached to the British and Irish League," Gwynne said. "We're very strong in Potions and Herbology, as well as Charms and Transfiguration. So we can help out with all of that."  
  
Molly's eyes turned to Alhena, who appeared to be attempting to remain inconspicuous by standing as nearly behind Tristan as possible. The other eyes in the room slowly went to Alhena, who didn't seem to notice the stares she was attracting at first. Bill thought she might actually think that by remaining motionless, she would become invisible. He and Charlie grinned at each other, then turned their heads to watch.  
  
She remained oblivious until Tristan gave her a gentle nudge with his elbow and nodded toward Molly. She let out a barely audible squeak of surprise that had almost everyone grinning as her eyes went wide.  
  
"Oh. Er.excuse me, I didn't hear the question?"  
  
Across the room, Dumbledore hid a grin. Tristan leaned over and murmured in her ear.  
  
"Oh! Right." She blushed, and cleared her throat. Her voice became businesslike, and she addressed Molly, who was the only person in the room still interested in her reply. The others were too busy trying not to laugh. "I've been a N.E.W.T.-level tutor, licensed, for the past six years. Before that I was working in private homes tutoring kids who weren't old enough for school yet. I'm licensed for tutoring in Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Astronomy, Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Divination, Herbology, History of Magic, and Transfiguration."  
  
"Did you get O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s in all of those? Molly Weasley asked, her eyes narrowed a bit. All four Weasley brothers rolled their eyes. Their father hid a grin.  
  
"We don't have O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s at Caerdys. Our exams are called Basic and Advanced Levels. We get one grade per subject, and the most you can take are 13 Basics and 10 Advanced Levels. I made 10 Basics and 13 Advanced Levels. I missed the last three Basic Level exams out with pneumonia." She looked deeply ashamed by this admission. Molly couldn't help a smile.  
  
"What kind of practical experience do any of you have in Defense?" Remus Lupin asked, an odd sort of grin on his face. Bill, Charlie, and the twins put it down to his having been Defense teacher at Hogwarts nearly three years ago.  
  
"Oh, well, not much, at least not Nick and I," Gwynne said. "But we got our Advanced Levels in it, third and fourth in our year on the exam."  
  
"I've had some experience with vampires," Tristan admitted, an odd smile lurking around his lips. "Not that I think that would be particularly valuable area for the junior Order. They've already studied them pretty thoroughly, from what I understand." Lupin had to bite back a grin; he'd been the one to teach them about vampires.  
  
"And you, dear?" Hestia Jones asked, clearly to save Alhena any more embarrassment. Hestia's efforts were entirely unnecessary. Now that they were talking about academics, Alhena had obviously warmed to the conversation.  
  
"Oh! Well, I had to go through a Practical, didn't I, to be licensed by the Ministry for tutoring. They're not big on letting you get a license without it," Alhena said, almost chattily. "Vampires and werewolves and all sorts of demons and spirits, Dark Creatures, hexes, dueling, jinxes and charms. I-"  
  
"That sounds lovely, dear," Molly Weasley broke in, when it appeared that Alhena was in danger of going on forever. Bill and Charlie had to bite back laughter. Fred and George, far from being disgusted as this obvious love of academics, seemed absolutely fascinated by her. Bill wondered at that, remembered the twins' policy on contrariness, and shrugged it off.  
  
Talk moved on to the information the Order was trying to gather on the escaped Death Eaters, and eventually, almost reluctantly, circled around to Morrigan. Bill couldn't figure out why they were suddenly reluctant to talk about it; Charlie had told him that everyone at the house had been discussing it nonstop since that morning. Then he realised what the problem was. Morrigan and Malcolm had gone to Caerdys. Malcolm and four other Caerdys graduates were standing in the room, and it was not difficult to tell from the timid little wave Alhena had give Malcolm, and the nods sent his way by the other three newcomers, that these four young Wizards and Witches, and the Carricks, were friends. No one seemed willing to openly accuse Morrigan of being likely to betray the Order with Malcolm and the others here.  
  
"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" Emmaline Vance finally exclaimed, exasperated. "We're tip-toeing around this, and it's ridiculous. Albus, we would like you to reconsider the membership of Malcolm's sister." She even seemed reluctant to mention Morrigan's name. "We're concerned about, well, her past," she said with almost ridiculous overemphasis. "And the fact that she's now working directly under two Aurors who are suspicious. They had her go to the Wands yesterday, after the Ministry and before she went home. And I, for one, don't think that seems exactly right. Why would she have gone there if she had just been attacked?"  
  
Dumbledore nodded, though it was clear that his gesture had nothing to do with agreement. He looked around, eyebrows raised.  
  
"At the risk of causing an argument," Bill said mildly, "I'd like to make it clear that this is not a unanimous request." His brothers nodded. Malcolm nodded. Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt nodded. Lupin nodded. Surprising them all, Snape nodded.  
  
The newcomers looked distinctly disturbed at the accusation against Morrigan. Alhena's timidity had disappeared; her face was so pink and so outraged that Bill thought she might just walk out the door. The others looked as though they might follow her. "We saw her at the Wands," Bill continued calmly. "She very definitely did not want to be there. And she was very definitely in bad shape when she was there. We were surprised she made it out the door at all. We would have helped her home, but she was being watched very carefully the entire time she was there.  
  
"In addition to that, she's gotten us a lot of valuable information we never would have gotten without her. She risked a great deal to go to Azkaban, and she did it willingly. Voluntarily, I might add. She obviously told you about her past, Professor," Bill said, unable to bring himself to call Dumbledore by his first name. Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "So she wasn't trying to hide anything from the Order. Frankly, I don't understand why any of us have a problem with her being in the Order. Whatever she did, she obviously disclosed it to the Ministry. If it was as serious as Emmaline is implying, it's likely that the Headmaster of her school knew about it. And they would have had to speak with him for her to have made it into Auror Training." He held up a hand when a half-dozen people looked about to interrupt him, and they let him go on.  
  
"I know," he continued. "MacInnes and Whiting made it through Auror training as well. But they're very senior. They've been Aurors since before Voldemort rose to power the first time," he said, and ignored the flinches at his use of the Dark Lord's name. "It's apples and oranges," he said simply. "There's no comparison."  
  
"And I don't suppose it's necessary to add this," Tonks said, looking as though she were going to fall off her chair in the attempt to keep her composure, "but I will. Because it's obvious that some people have questions about her commitment to the Order.  
  
"If she were the kind of person to give in easily to coercion, or to switch sides, she would have done it last night. She was put under interrogation, using the Cruciatus Curse, for more than forty-five minutes last night. And the Cursing was done by an experienced Auror who could easily have killed her with it, had he chosen. She knew that as well as Kingsley or I do. She's worked for him for seven years. And she held out rather than tell him a thing." She leaned back in her chair, and, rolling his eyes, Kingsley caught it with one arm before it ended up going over backwards. Charlie stifled a laugh.  
  
A silence descended over the room, and Bill and Charlie exchanged another glance. It was clear that, despite the evidence, they were definitely in the minority as far as supporting Morrigan went. Bill, going around the room, was a bit disheartened. He and Charlie, Fred and George, Lupin and Snape, Tonks and Kingsley, Dumbledore and McGonagall, Moody and Malcolm, and the four newcomers stood against nearly thirty other Order members.  
  
Malcolm sighed heavily and stood. His face was dark with banked fury, though his tone was polite. "With your permission, Headmaster, I think it best if I leave now. As things stand, I can't participate in meetings here. It will cause too much division in the Order." His eyes passed over the members who remained unconvinced of Morrigan's trustworthiness. Anger and contempt slid through his control to blaze at them. They looked away. He turned to Dumbledore, waiting.  
  
Dumbledore nodded, his face unreadable, but about him there was an air of sadness that seemed to chill the air around him. Malcolm turned and nodded his sister's supporters. He smiled sadly at Dumbledore and at Minerva McGonagall, then Disapparated out of the kitchen without the slightest whisper of sound.  
  
Dumbledore sighed, and a troubled look passed over his face. He carried on with the Order's business. It was clear that he had no intention of opening the subject of Morrigan's membership in the Order to general debate. In matters of membership, at least, Dumbledore's word was law. He could not order them to trust Morrigan, but he would not allow her to be voted out of the Order. He had chosen her, and her brother, for a purpose. It was a purpose he would not share with the other members, concerned though they were.  
  
The meeting ended quickly and the members of the Order dispersed, most going their separate ways. Bill and his brothers spent some time talking to Nicholas, Gwynne, Tristan, and Alhena. Bill couldn't help but notice that Alhena was back to trying to hide behind Tristan. She kept bumping against him where he stood, nearly shoulder to shoulder with Tris, and apologising in a tiny voice while continuing to shy away from everyone. As much as it amused him, he couldn't help but feel like he'd met her before. Something about her was eerily familiar. He pushed that thought away as they discussed getting together later in the week, and went their separate ways. Bill and his brothers went with Malcolm to his flat; Tristan, Gwynne, and Nicholas headed to Hogsmeade; and Alhena and Remus Lupin headed for the stairs.  
  
***  
  
Harry looked at the others, his face pale. Neville's face was just as pale, his features tense and drawn. Hermione had tears in her eyes. Ginny looked close to crying. Ron just sat there staring blankly.  
  
"Forty-five minutes," Hermione said, her voice shaky. "She fought him off for forty-five minutes. No wonder she was so badly hurt."  
  
"How did she survive it that long?" Neville asked. They all looked at him. He was trembling finely, as though he couldn't possibly manage to be still. "Forty-five minutes. It should have killed her," he said softly. They knew he was thinking of his parents, and none of them could think of a thing to say.  
  
"Maybe it was the Elven blood," Hermione ventured after a few moments. "Maybe it affects her differently because of that." For some reason that seemed to make Neville feel a bit better, as though perhaps his parents' experience with the Curse at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange didn't suffer by comparison. He appeared to sink deeply into thought, barely listening to the conversation, after Hermione's suggestion.  
  
"They almost kicked her out," Ron said softly. "If Bill and Tonks hadn't said something, they would have kicked her out."  
  
"Dumbledore wouldn't have let them," Ginny protested. "You heard him, he wouldn't even talk about it."  
  
"He let Malcolm leave, didn't he?" Ron asked gloomily. "He might not have had a choice. The Order wouldn't be much good if half of the people in it were fighting against the other half, would it?" he asked.  
  
Harry couldn't think of a thing to say. His insides were clenching and unclenching, and he wasn't certain he wouldn't be sick. She had lied to him. Lied, and pretended to want to help him. She'd been open and friendly and had told him things no one else had ever been willing to even discuss with him before.  
  
He should have known. Just the kind of information she'd given him should have put him on his guard. It was too simple, too strangely perfect that someone who had known Sirius would just show up at the house claiming to be his long-lost cousin and tell him all sorts of things he wanted to hear. He should have been suspicious of her from the start. That had been part of her game, he thought, being so free with information, acting as though she thought he was old enough to handle it, in order to gain his trust. She was probably feeding information to the Death Eaters right this minute.  
  
That didn't mean he'd wanted her to suffer forty-five minutes of the Cruciatus Curse.  
  
He was done with letting people walk all over him. He was done with giving people the chance to let him down. His friends were one thing. He knew them, and they knew him, and he trusted them without hesitation. The Weasleys could be trusted, and Bill, Charlie, and the twins. Professor Lupin could be trusted, and Moody. Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were trustworthy.  
  
Morrigan, and by extension Malcolm, couldn't be trusted. They had lied, or at least they had hidden information from him just like everyone else was always trying to do. He didn't even trust most of the Order members anymore. It simply cost too much to trust anyone else. Especially when they proved that he'd been wrong to trust them in the first place.  
  
He leaned against the wall, legs out straight in front of him on the bed, and thought he'd been foolish to trust Morrigan, but at least he'd realised it before any real harm had been done. And at the same time, he remembered the look of pain on her face when she'd spoken of Sirius. He remembered thinking that it had hurt her to talk about his godfather. He remembered the sincerity in her eyes when she'd spoken of finding ways to share information between the Order and Harry and his friends. He remembered that she'd held him when he'd cried out his pain and rage and fear.  
  
Most of all, he remembered the way she'd looked when she'd arrived at Headquarters after her ordeal at the Ministry. That, most of all, was making him sick to his stomach. He could still see the smile she'd given him when Snape had woken her to give her the Pain Reducing Potion. He could still see the wrenching pain in her eyes. And he couldn't reconcile that with her lies and what he'd recently learned about her. It had been bad enough being miserable after Sirius' death. Being confused and miserable, he was discovering, was far worse.  
  
There was one way to make sure the misery and the confusion went away. He would not let anyone else into the circle of people he trusted. He would learn Occlumency from whoever Dumbledore had decided to have teach him Occlumency, and he would work really hard to learn it. Then he could protect himself from any other attempts to win his confidence and threaten his friends, or threaten him. He would study harder than he ever had before in order to make sure that he could protect himself and his friends when the time came.  
  
The situation at the Ministry in June would never be repeated. He would never be fooled into another trap. He wouldn't let anyone ever use him to their own ends. He would fight to make sure that the game was now played on his terms.  
  
If the rest of them didn't like it, so be it.  
  
"Harry, are you all right?" Hermione asked, looking at him closely. She looked very worried. "Harry?"  
  
Harry came out of his thoughts to find them all staring at him, anxious looks on their faces. He realised that Hermione had probably been speaking his name for a few minutes. "Oh. Sorry. Just wondering about the new tutors," he said, shrugging. He wondered where the lie had come from, and decided that it didn't matter. He didn't want to discuss his confusion. He had a plan now. He wasn't going to have to be confused anymore.  
  
"I wonder what they're like," Hermione mused, willing to be distracted from darker thoughts, especially if the subject was school. "That one, the woman, what's her name-Alhena," she said with a nod, remembering, "sounds as though she's very smart, don't you think?"  
  
Ginny wrinkled her nose. "Doesn't sound like much fun, though," she said. Harry had to agree with her. Morrigan had proved no better than a traitor, but she and Malcolm had been a lot of fun to learn Potions from.  
  
Neville looked for a moment as though he were about to bring up the subject of Morrigan and Malcolm again, but looked at Harry and quite obviously changed his mind. He looked at Hermione. She gave him a slight shrug. She wasn't quite sure how to bring up the issue. Not now, when Harry was so obviously upset about everything. The set look on Harry's face reminded her of the day Harry had arrived at Grimmauld Place last year, and she wasn't, at the moment, up to an argument about Harry's cousins.  
  
A knock on the door had them all looking up. "Come on in," Ron called, and the door opened slowly. Remus Lupin and a brown-haired witch stood in the doorway. Harry wasn't oblivious to the disappointment in Lupin's eyes as he looked at Harry. The disappointment had been there ever since that morning, when Harry had lost his temper with Morrigan. Even though he knew he'd had a right to be angry, Harry didn't like remembering the total loss of control that had led him to scream at her, especially in the condition she'd been in at the time. The confusion came back again, and he fought it down, looking at his hands, as Lupin spoke.  
  
"I'd like to introduce you all to Alhena Farrell. She'll be helping you with Potions and whatever other subjects you need help in for the rest of the summer, and while you're at school. Some of her friends will be helping out as well, but Alhena's schedule makes her the one who will be there more often. She's a licensed tutor in all of your subjects, so there isn't much she won't be able to help you with."  
  
Harry found that, because she was shorter than Professor Lupin, he could look at Alhena without meeting Lupin's gaze, and joined his friends in staring at her curiously. She was brown-haired, brown-eyed, of average height and average weight, wearing brown robes that had seen better days. All in all, Harry decided, she couldn't be more unlike Morrigan. That was enough to have him liking her instantly. That didn't mean that he trusted her at all.  
  
"Err.hullo," Alhena said, smiling timidly at them. She looked, all in all, like she'd rather hide behind Lupin than say anything. Harry and Ron exchanged a glance. Clearly, she would be a much different teacher than the Carricks, who had laughed and joked and made them think that Potions could actually be fun. They sighed. It would be a long three weeks until school began. From the expressions on Hermione's, Ginny's, and Neville's faces, they were having similar thoughts.  
  
***  
  
Bill and his brothers followed Malcolm from his flat to the house in Inverness. It was still early, and they didn't want to sit around the house at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, avoiding questions and arguing with whatever Order members were still there. Nor did they particularly feel like heading back to the Burrow and avoiding questions and arguing with their mother, who had not been mollified in the slightest by Bill's and the twins' attempts to pacify her over the stand they'd taken that morning.  
  
Morrigan was stretched out on the sofa when they got there, looking completely done in. She moved her legs off the end of the sofa. Bill sat there when his brothers and Malcolm picked other seats, trying his hardest not to roll his eyes. Mal brought out a bottle of Firewhiskey and glasses, poured out, and sent the glasses floating around to each of them. The extra glass was taken by Remus Lupin, when he arrived a few minutes after the rest of them.  
  
"How did it go?" Morrigan asked, raising an eyebrow with an effort. It appeared that no one was going to speak of the meeting until they were forced to.  
  
"About as you'd have expected," Malcolm said, "at least for the part I stayed for."  
  
"No different once you left," Charlie said, rolling his eyes. "It's as if they've all just realised how much risk they're running just by being in the Order at all."  
  
"They probably just have," Morrigan said philosophically. "Until something bad happens, it's easy to ignore the risk."  
  
"What amazes me," Fred said, summoning a pack of cigarettes from the table and lighting one inexpertly with the tip of his wand, so that his eyebrows were in danger of being singed, "is that they're fully aware of the risk when they're telling people they can't join the Order until they're of age, but when it comes to themselves, they aren't aware of it at all."  
  
George nodded agreement. "See, we knew it was dangerous. Haven't we seen what Harry and the others went through each year at school?" he asked.  
  
"It's different, though," Morrigan told them. "It's different being worried for someone else than it is being worried for yourself." Who, she wondered idly, would know that better than she herself did?  
  
Fred and George looked as though they considered that utterly ridiculous. In truth, Morrigan couldn't blame them. After a few minutes, they appeared to put it behind them and amused her with stories about her friends. They described how Alhena had tried to hide behind Tristan, then how she had perked right up when their mother started asking her about school. Bill couldn't account for the gleam in the twins' eyes, nor could he explain the odd smile on Morrigan's face during the stories. Then she shifted on the couch, her arm brushing Bill's, and he had to fight against showing his surprise.  
  
Their eyes met, and he suddenly knew why she looked so exhausted when she should have been sleeping the entire time they'd been gone. That one brush of her arm had told him all he needed to know. He'd felt the same thing when Alhena Farrell had brushed against his arm earlier, in the kitchen of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. He'd felt the same thing when Morrigan had fallen asleep on his shoulder this afternoon, on this same sofa. The others, he thought, hadn't noticed anything, though Remus Lupin was looking at him. Lupin's expression was knowing and amused. Bill suddenly understood Lupin's odd little smile during the meeting.  
  
"So. From what Mal says, rumbles on the street, so to speak, suggest that there won't be a great need for part-time Aurors in the Department for much longer. More specifically," she added with a wry smile, "there won't be a need for two specific part-time Aurors."  
  
"Terrific," Fred said cheerfully. "We could use some help in the shop, couldn't we?" he asked, making Malcolm and Morrigan laugh.  
  
"Why the sudden change? Coming right now, it seems that the most ridiculous thing for the Ministry to do would be to get rid of any Aurors, part-time or no. I mean, Voldemort's back. There's a war on. They can't afford to lose any ground, can they?" Lupin wanted to know.  
  
"Remus," Morrigan said, her voice full of affection, "since when has the Ministry done anything logically?"  
  
After a moment, he had to acknowledge the truth of that. The way the Ministry had chosen to handle werewolves, for example, had shaped most of his adult life, but not in what he could call a positive way.  
  
"It sounds," Malcolm said with a shrug that belied the sparks of irritation in his eyes, "from what I heard in the Department today, and from what Kingsley heard, as well, that someone's been spreading rumours about Mor and I. Specifically, they've been spreading rumours about how close we are with Dumbledore. Strange, since we've never been seen in public with him, in disguise or out of it. And Kingsley said that they started before we got to the Ministry yesterday. So it couldn't have come from anything MacInnes or Whiting got from Morrigan." He sighed. "The way Fudge has been acting lately, it won't be long before we're out on our arses. Of course, that's not the big deal of it."  
  
"Don't get us wrong," Morrigan said. "We like our jobs. We'd like to keep them. But the really worrying thing is, who's spreading the rumours, and why?" She frowned and summoned a cigarette with a wave of her fingers, feeling too lazy to reach for her wand. "And, of course, what good are either of us to the Order without our jobs?"  
  
"And I doubt that anyone trained as an Auror, whether they're working or not, could possibly not be valuable to the Order, if they've got extra time to spend around Hogwarts," Lupin observed mildly to both of the Carricks. "Either inside the castle," he said, looking at Morrigan, "and outside," he added, looking at Malcolm. "It's not just through official channels that we keep tabs on people, is it?" he asked rhetorically. This seemed to make Malcolm and Morrigan a bit less gloomy.  
  
"But you need jobs to live off of," Charlie said, frowning.  
  
"We're not badly off that way," Malcolm said. "We earned a decent amount of money, and we don't spend much. We inherited the flats in London, which saved us a lot. It's not a matter of money. It's a matter of who's spreading the rumours, and why."  
  
Considering that, they talked until the grandfather clock in the foyer struck midnight, then went their separate ways. Tomorrow was a work day, and they had to put on a show of normality, no matter what had happened over the weekend.  
  
*  
  
When Bill arrived early at the Muggle pub to see Lupin, he found Malcolm waiting there. From the look on Malcolm's face, his day at work had been about as bad as Bill's had been. "Got our notice," Malcolm said in a tone that was neither surprised nor bitter. In fact, Bill thought, Malcolm sounded somewhat amused, now that the rumors had proved true. "I suppose it's somewhat better than having the axe hanging over your head for weeks, isn't it?" Malcolm asked, shrugging, and Lupin pushed a whiskey across the gleaming bar counter toward Bill, who grinned and greeted him.  
  
"Sorry to hear it anyway," Bill said, and lit a cigarette. After today, he needed it badly. "What excuse did they use?"  
  
Malcolm snorted with genuine amusement. "They're reorganising the Department. It wasn't just us. Two other more junior members of the Department got sacked, too. Mor felt terrible about that. She seems to think, and she might be right, that it was only to camouflage us getting sacked that they lost their jobs at all."  
  
"She at home, then?" Bill asked.  
  
"She's around," Malcolm said, shrugging. "I told her she come out with us and take a night off, but she said she wasn't in the mood to celebrate the Ministry's idiocy."  
  
Bill had to grin at that. It sounded just like her. It was too bad; he would have liked to see her, but he didn't blame her for being upset at losing her job, no matter how little she'd needed it to earn a living.  
  
"Interesting thing, though," Malcolm said after taking a drink of his whiskey. "Just as she was leaving, MacInnes and Whiting headed her off in the corridor. She didn't have time to tell me what they said, but I doubt it was anything particularly good."  
  
Bill arched an eyebrow. Given the conversation he'd overheard between Malcolm and Morrigan in the kitchen in the Inverness house, he was extremely interested in this development, but wasn't going to force Malcolm to say more than he thought wise.  
  
"It's odd," Malcolm said, reflectively. When Bill appeared unsurprised, Malcolm sighed. "Right. You heard us in the kitchen. Within a half-hour of being told today was her last day at work, she's suddenly approached by MacInnes and Whiting. She talked to them for quite a while. She's trying to get as much information as she can, I suppose."  
  
Charlie and the twins came through the door, laughing, and waved at Lupin, then at Bill and Malcolm. Lupin filled their orders and leaned against the bar in the nearly-empty pub, while Malcolm filled them all in on what he and Bill had been discussing, then he went on with his story.  
  
"I have no idea what they were discussing. MacInnes grabbed her as we were leaving, and that was the last I saw of her all day. She's not in her flat-I went home to check-and she's not in Inverness. Our Da's there- arrived this morning. That would keep her away sure as anything," he said with a heavy sigh. At Bill's questioning gaze, he explained, "They don't get along. Haven't, not since our Mum was killed. Mor looks just like her. I think Da's always had a problem with that."  
  
Bill kept his opinion on that to himself, for the moment. Frankly, anything that ridiculous didn't even merit comment. Charlie snorted, and the twins made disgusted faces. Malcolm's expression suggested that he felt the same way. "So, what, she's suddenly in with MacInnes and Whiting?" Bill asked, wanting to clarify it in his mind. "Finding out what she can about what they're up to?" he added after a moment.  
  
Malcolm nodded. "She can't do much inside the Order at this rate. Okay, well, she could, in the strictest sense of the word. Dumbledore wouldn't cut her out. No one would be able to vote her out. But she won't endanger the Order's ability to work together just to save herself." Malcolm sighed again.  
  
"She'll just endanger herself and drive you insane in the process," Bill replied. Malcolm gave him a grin that held no real amusement, and nodded agreement. "But it's more dangerous for her, from what she was saying yesterday."  
  
Malcolm nodded. "She told you about Keith." When Bill and the others nodded, Malcolm lit a cigarette and went on. "Well, knowing her, she played it down. See, Elven magic doesn't come from inside you. It comes from around you. The stronger your magic, the more power is channeled through you.  
  
"Channeling the power is harder than it might sound, because it feels good to let the power go. Just like it feels good to use the power for your own purposes. And if you're powerful, like Mor is, the feeling is that much more intense. Among the Elves, being powerful is its own sort of curse. It's nice, of course, but it's more of a burden than a pleasure. So once you've had a taste of it, so to speak, the power pulls at you." He sighed. "The pull to let the power loose is always strong, from what Mor says. But it's gotten worse over the past six months or so, since we got involved in the Order. Probably because she knows there's a big fight coming up, which makes her more sensitive to it than she would be otherwise."  
  
"What does that mean for her, if she's trying to work both sides of the line?" Charlie asked. His brothers nodded.  
  
Malcolm sighed. "Your guess is as good as mine. All I'm sure of is that the last time she let it go full-tilt was during the Keith situation. And it nearly had her turning to the other side. Now's she's stronger than she was back then, and the pull is stronger. So she's, in effect, gambling that she has the strength to keep a lid on her power. If she loses the gamble, she'll be one hell of a dangerous enemy."  
  
"Well," Bill said, after a long while, "it seems pointless to talk about what's going to happen then. If you really thought she was going to fail at it, you would have made sure she couldn't have played the game she's playing."  
  
Malcolm's laughter was dark and chilling. "You don't understand her kind of power. How do you prevent someone who can disarm you with a thought from doing whatever they want?"  
  
Bill thought about that. "You discredit her with Whiting or MacInnes. But it's a bit late for that, from what I gather," he said drily.  
  
"Spot on," Malcolm said, shaking his head.  
  
"So what can we do to help her out?" Bill asked. It was clear he meant himself, his brothers, Lupin, and Malcolm. Malcolm's smile acknowledged that with gratitude. They sat there for an hour or so, discussing their options. When they left the pub, they hadn't come up with much in the way of a plan. There was simply too much they didn't know about the situation yet.  
  
***  
  
King's Cross at last. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. The last three weeks of the summer hadn't been too terrible. Alhena Farrell had turned out to be an excellent teacher, despite the fact that she wasn't much on fun. He hadn't had to deal with the Carricks at all; they hadn't been anywhere near Number 12 Grimmauld Place, as far as he knew, since the weekend they'd left and Alhena had taken over the tutoring. The Order had gone on with their business, which hadn't been very interesting since they'd remembered about the Imperturbable Charm after the night Malcolm had attended his last meeting. Charlie had left to return to Romania, but had hinted that he would be back sooner than they expected. Bill had spent most evenings there, helping Alhena Farrell with lessons. Fred and George had helped out as well, proving themselves to have been far more adept at most schoolwork than their marks had suggested.  
  
Their trip to Diagon Alley had been uneventful, which had been a relief. It had been a risk, of course, but Dumbledore had approved it, and they had been so heavily escorted it was a wonder the Witches and Wizards doing their shopping in the Alley hadn't noticed. Still, whatever difficulties it had caused the Order to run herd on Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville had been worth it in the end. The last three weeks of the summer hadn't been terrible, but Number 12 Grimmauld Place had begun to feel like a prison, as any place felt when people were forced to stay cooped up inside it for long. They'd bought their books and Harry, who'd grown much taller over the past school year, had bought new everyday and dress robes. He'd made Ron's day by wishing out loud that he had robes waiting for him at home; Ron had an assortment of everyday school robes to choose from in various heights, now that his older brothers were all out of school.  
  
Visiting Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes had been the high point of the trip. Fred and George's joke shop had been crammed so full of people that it had taken them nearly fifteen minutes just to get in the door. They had gotten what the twins cheerfully called a 'DA Discount,' and had stocked up to their hearts' content. The sight of a sign in the window announcing the opening of a new branch in Hogsmeade next month had Mrs. Weasley alternating between beaming with pride and frowning with worry that Fred and George might be overextending themselves. Still, she had made her way through the crowded shop with a smile on her face, and the trip seemed to have done something, at least, to break the tension that had seemed to surround her since the Carricks had left Number 12 Grimmauld Place.  
  
Harry stood on the platform beside his trunk and grinned at Ron, who grinned back. They couldn't remember being more glad to leave for Hogwarts. Professor Lupin, Moody, Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley, Bill, Alhena, and Tonks stood behind them. Fred and George had wanted to come along, but things in the shop were too busy. Harry felt in the pocket of his sweatshirt and found his Chocolate Frog card, the one that was linked to the other junior Order members' cards. Fred and George had brought them over to Grimmauld Place last week, and had spent the better part of an hour showing Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Neville how they worked. Fred and George hadn't said exactly who outside of the eight of them, including Luna, could be contacted, just that someone would always be monitoring the channel. This bit of Muggle terminology had taken the better part of fifteen minutes for Harry and Hermione to explain to the others, by which time Fred and George were gone.  
  
Ron turned to ask Bill something, and Harry, for a long, painful moment, remembered his last trip to King's Cross. He hadn't been as happy to be returning to school, but the trip itself had been far more enjoyable. Sirius had been with him, as Snuffles. They had stood on the platform and Sirius had made Harry laugh until he nearly cried with it, jumping around and wagging his tail and generally causing confusion. Today, the only confusion stemmed from the heightened security at the platform; Aurors with wands drawn patrolled the area, and people watched them with eyes that were either wary or frightened. Voldemort was back. The Ministry had made it official. The knowledge hung like a pall over the station, and the normal noise and bustle was subdued. Expressions were watchful, even suspicious. Harry couldn't wait to get on the train.  
  
After saying their farewells, Ron, Harry, and Hermione headed toward the door of the nearest carriage to get a compartment on the train. Ginny and Neville followed, waving over their shoulders, sharing the need to get off the platform. Harry was turning to lift his trunk up the steps when someone ran into him and he was knocked nearly off his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bill tense, his hand moving toward his wand, then relax slightly. Harry got a good grip on his trunk and turned back around, letting his trunk lead. He heard a softly hissed curse as his trunk returned the hit he'd taken, and recognised Draco Malfoy's voice.  
  
"Out of the way, Potter," the tall, blond Slytherin prefect sneered. His pale eyes burned with hatred. Remembering the last time he'd been at King's Cross, remembering Sirius on the platform, Sirius who was dead now because of Malfoy's father and people just like him, Harry's eyes narrowed on Malfoy.  
  
"Sod off, Malfoy," Harry sneered back, every bit of the pain of Sirius' loss infusing his voice with contempt. Malfoy, who obviously hadn't been expecting such a virulent reaction, and who was temporarily without his two hulking cohorts, Crabbe and Goyle, backed off a bit.  
  
Ron's smirk obviously made Malfoy realise what he'd done, because on seeing it he stood firm and affected a mock-sympathetic tone. "What's the matter, Potter? You seem sad. And so alone. Your dog seems to be missing," he said, and his pale eyes took on a look of unholy glee.  
  
"So does your Dad, Malfoy," Harry said, hoping his struggle for control didn't show. He had the pleasure of seeing Malfoy's expression go dark and troubled before the other boy found his composure again. "Back off," Harry said, and wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed when he heard Crabbe and Goyle, just entering the platform, calling to Malfoy. Malfoy, obviously seething, headed over toward the other side of the platform, and Harry carried his trunk up the steps of the train carriage. He and Ron found an empty compartment, then went back to help Hermione and Ginny with their trunks.  
  
Once the five of them were situated inside their compartment, Ron closed the door. He opened it again and hurried out, followed by Neville and Harry, when they caught sight of Luna Lovegood gliding across the platform. They got her trunk inside the compartment with the others, and, all settled, got down to discussing their summer. Luna's pale eyes sparkled excitedly and her earrings-which bore an uneasy resemblance to a pair of small purple artichokes-swung crazily as she told them all about the trip she and her father had taken to Sweden, in search of a Crumple- Horned Snorkack.  
  
They all waved to the Weasleys, Lupin, Moody, Alhena, Tonks, Neville's grandmother, and Luna's father as the train began to move. Ron and Hermione headed to the front of the train, toward the Prefects' compartment for the inevitable beginning-of-the-train-ride meeting, and Harry felt himself relax as they drew further away from London and Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Ginny and Luna continued discussing the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, and Neville set his Mimbulus mimbletonia, which had nearly doubled in size since the beginning of the summer holiday, down in a safe place. He and Harry started talking about the new DA club and the shock Snape was going to have when he found them both in his N.E.W.T. Potions class.  
  
Harry's heart felt lighter with every mile the Hogwarts Express traveled away from London. By the time the plump witch rolled the snack trolley through the corridor, he was positively mellow. He'd never been so happy to be heading back to school. 


	7. Strange Beginnings

Chapter 07: Strange Beginnings  
  
Harry, Ron, and Hermione faced Ginny and Neville across the Gryffindor table. Ravenous-for even Ron's stomach had forgotten itself during their conversation on the train-they waited impatiently for the Sorting to be done. Neville drummed his fingers on the table as unobtrusively as possible. Ginny amused herself by turning her fingernails different colours with only the barest flick of her wand and a few inaudibly whispered words. It was a feat that never failed to impress any of them; even Hermione had only managed to change a single thumbnail green when Alhena had been teaching them the Charm. Hermione and Ron started up a hushed argument over whether to tell off a few second years who were getting a little overexcited at returning to school. Harry simply looked around the room, caught Hagrid's eye, and waved at him. Hagrid beamed and waved back, and Harry grinned. He decided that it was very good to be back at school.  
  
The argument having concluded in her favour, Hermione made to stand up and take the second years in hand when the doors to the Great Hall swung open. The sudden silence made further action on her part unnecessary. Harry thought, as he watched Professor McGonagall glide into the hall looking her usual stern self in her green velvet robes, that the distraction had been a good thing for Ron. It was clear from Hermione's glare that Harry hadn't been the only person to notice Ron's decided lack of movement toward the second year students. He and Hermione turned with the rest of the students in the Great Hall and watched as the first years followed Professor McGonagall into the hall. Their faces showing emotions ranging from anxiety to sheer terror, the first years made their trembling way up the center aisle and stopped, some flinching, when Professor McGonagall whirled to face them. Professor Flitwick brought out the three- legged stool on which rested the decidedly disreputable-looking Sorting Hat.  
  
Once the first-years were all lined up along the front of the Hall and shifting nervously from foot to foot, a rip that looked decidedly like a mouth opened up near the brim of the Sorting Hat, and Harry and his friends heard the first-years gasp. They grinned, and leaned forward to make sure they caught the Sorting Hat's latest song.  
  
When Hogwarts School was newly built  
And there were fewer here,  
In olden days when I was new  
My songs you would not hear.  
Each of the Founders chose their own  
Students who would be taught;  
Each Founder had their own ideas  
Of what traits should be sought.  
Slytherin found the pure of blood  
Far better than the rest;  
By Gryffindor the brave of heart  
Were held to be the best.  
For Ravenclaw the cleverest  
Were held in high regard;  
Hufflepuff would take everyone  
Willing to labour hard.  
Time passed and while it did the Four  
Each argued for their side  
But none of them came out ahead;  
They started to divide.  
At first things went on peacefully;  
Four houses did appear  
To fit the needs of each of them  
And save what they held dear.  
Slytherin accepted only  
Those who had ambition,  
Whose cunning and blood-purity  
Fit well within his mission.  
For Godric Gryffindor the best  
Were daring, brave, and strong;  
He gathered them together and  
To him they did belong.  
To Ravenclaw went the smartest,  
The most intelligent;  
She taught them to appreciate  
Wisdom as was her bent.  
Hufflepuff, loyal and true,  
Took everyone who came  
To her they all were worthy and  
Were welcome all the same.  
The differences of these four friends  
As time went on were aired;  
The Founders' friendship broke apart  
And could not be repaired.  
Each of the Four went on choosing  
The students they would teach  
And in the process grew apart;  
They could not heal the breach.  
Initially the Houses were  
Created to unite  
But time went on and they began  
Among themselves, to fight.  
There was a time when unity  
Seemed unlikely to be,  
But suddenly the four Founders  
Were whittled down to three.  
Slytherin left Hogwarts due to  
All of the infighting;  
The blow of that loss shocked the others  
Into reuniting.  
The Founders all have long been gone  
And I am left to choose  
Which students fit into which House;  
This job I can't refuse  
Though there are times I wish I could  
Stop sorting everyone  
Because I see divisions 'twixt  
The students when I'm done.  
Darkness is rising daily and  
The need for unity  
Has never been greater than now  
In our community.  
Forces from outside the school  
Are trying to destroy  
The world in which we live our lives,  
The peace that we enjoy.  
Remember that if we must fight  
The fighting should not be  
Between ourselves; we should remain  
As one, in unity.  
Hogwarts can only survive if  
We remain united;  
If we cannot stand strong today  
We will become benighted.  
Whichever House you belong to  
Can't change one crucial fact:  
We're all in this together and  
We must remain intact  
If we want to survive this war  
Where Darkness threatens Light  
We must stay strong and work as one  
To win the coming fight.  
I've had my say, and now it's time-  
For I am done exhorting-  
So remember what I've said and  
Let's begin the Sorting!  
  
As they applauded with the rest of the students in the Great Hall, Harry and Ron exchanged a look. Neither was about to admit that a singing hat had made them distinctly uneasy. It was just a hat, Harry thought, even though he knew better. He could see the same thoughts reflected on Ron's face.  
  
"Not too cheerful this year, is it?" Ron muttered across the table as Aylesford, Bridget was Sorted into Hufflepuff to applause from that table.  
  
Harry snorted softly, amused. Hermione looked at them and frowned. Clearly, she had taken the Sorting Hat's depressing attitude personally. "Well, if it wants to bring people together, it oughtn't be so dark about it," she said, in a tone that suggested that she thought the Sorting Hat should be held to account for its lack of cheerfulness on the first day of term.  
  
Harry had to bite back laughter. Ron didn't bother, but managed to keep his laughter near a whisper. Ginny had a harder time, and Neville was red with the attempt to keep from letting out a sound. They passed the Sorting in an agony of near-laughter, while four first years were sorted into Hufflepuff, three into Ravenclaw, three into Slytherin, and two into Gryffindor. They were close to bursting out with it and completely disrupting the Sorting when they heard Professor McGonagall call out, "Mark Evans." Any temptation they'd had to laugh disappeared as abruptly as if it had been Vanished, and they turned their heads toward the front of the room.  
  
Harry's eyes flew to the front of the room and he saw the boy Dudley had beat up the previous summer climbing nervously onto the four-legged stool. Before he placed the Sorting Hat on his head and it covered half his face, Harry recognised the pale blond hair and dark brown eyes, now surrounded by pale skin unbruised by Dudley's fists. It was, definitely, the same Mark Evans who lived in Richfield Downs, the town bordering Little Whinging. He felt Ron's and Hermione's eyes on him, and gave a tense nod. They both sighed. Things would have been much easier had they been able to discount what Morrigan had said about Mark Evans. It would have been far simpler to write her off as a liar, or as someone whose information was merely incorrect. But Harry knew she had told him the truth about Sirius, and about his father. Now she had been right about his cousin as well.  
  
His cousin. He couldn't credit it, not really. The only real experience he'd had with cousins, outside of the Carricks, was with Dudley, and on the whole, Dudley had fairly well convinced Harry that he was lucky not to have more cousins. Yet here was another one. Harry wondered fleetingly if he could simply ignore Mark Evans for the next two years. It would be possible, if Mark Evans was Sorted into another house. Even as Harry heard the Sorting Hat call out, "Gryffindor!" he knew that ignoring Mark Evans for the next few years had been far too simple a plan.  
  
Obviously thrilled to have been Sorted into Gryffindor, Mark slid off the stool and ran over to the table to mixed applause and laughter; he was nearly jumping up and down with excitement, but making an obvious effort to pretend he was calm. He couldn't have weighed fifty pounds soaking wet, Harry thought, and he was vibrating like a guitar string. Though he would have preferred to be able to ignore Mark, Harry found himself liking him already, if for no other reason than his enthusiasm for being Sorted into Gryffindor. He remembered feeling the same way after his own Sorting, though he hoped he'd managed to hide it a bit better.  
  
Mark Evans slid into a chair beside Dennis Creevey, who immediately clapped him on the back and started chattering nonstop. Harry resisted the urge to groan, but only barely. When Dennis pointed down the table at him and Mark followed Dennis's eyes over to meet Harry's, Harry gave an embarrassed grin and waved. Grinning cheerfully, Mark Evans waved back, then returned his attention to Dennis, who was talking a mile a minute. It was too much to hope that Dennis' older brother Colin wouldn't get in on the act. Harry knew it, and wasn't too surprised when Colin moved down the table to sit on Mark's other side.  
  
"There you go, Harry," Ron said with a snort, "another member of the Harry Potter fan club."  
  
"Just what I need," Harry said philosophically, and sighed.  
  
"Don't feel so bad, Harry," Ginny said with a smirk. "They're really just replacing me with Mark."  
  
Harry stared at her, feeling his ears burning, then he and Ginny burst into laughter, having to hide their faces in their arms on the table to muffle the noise and avoid Professor McGonagall's glare. Ron and Hermione busied themselves looking elsewhere, trying to look as though they, as sixth-year Prefects, were completely unaware that one of the Gryffindor fifth-year Prefects was disrupting the Sorting with their best friend.  
  
It seemed to take forever, but Zachary, William was finally Sorted into Gryffindor, and the Sorting was over. The stool and Hat were taken away to a final round of applause, and Professor Dumbledore gestured for silence. Quiet fell over the Great Hall like a blanket. It was clear that, after the Sorting Hat's rather ominous song, everyone expected a solemn speech.  
  
They should have known better. After introducing the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Carey, Dumbledore simply welcomed them all and waved his hands for the Feast to begin, ending with, "Tuck in." The gasps of appreciation when the tables magically filled up with food made Dumbledore smile, and he turned his attention to his own food as the students began to eat.  
  
"Carey. Why does that sound familiar?" Hermione asked, frowning slightly as she helped herself to some beef.  
  
"Morrigan and Malcolm and Professor Carey were talking down in the living room earlier this summer," Ginny said matter-of-factly. They all stared at her. "Well, they were," she said forcefully. "And I don't see the point in not mentioning her name like she doesn't exist. Maybe we thought she was something she isn't," she said, and Harry didn't miss the emphasis Ginny placed on the word 'maybe.' "But whatever she is or isn't, there's no point pretending we imagined her, or Malcolm. If we want to play a part in all of this, and have it mean anything at all, we can't be forever acting like children when things don't go the way we'd hoped."  
  
That statement, to Harry, smacked of the philosophy of Morrigan Carrick, but he let that pass. Ginny was right, much as it hurt to admit it; it wasn't helping anyone to make everyone fear even mentioning the Carricks around him. They'd all end up walking on eggshells, and they had enough to worry about without that.  
  
"And she wasn't always wrong," Harry said, so it was clear. Hermione and Ron stared at him, shocked. Neville grinned encouragingly, in that Neville-like way that made it seem like the greatest compliment in the world. And Ginny just smiled. Harry felt his ears burning again, and turned his attention to his roast beef.  
  
"What do we know about Professor Carey?" Hermione asked, but it was clear that she was addressing Ginny. Ron, Neville, and Harry exchanged a glance, deciding whether to be insulted by that. Remembering their near- constant discussions about Quidditch and the new DA Club over the summer, they decided not to protest.  
  
"Well, he's an old friend of Dad's," Ginny said after a moment. "He used to work for the Ministry somehow or another, but he changed jobs years ago, when Fudge was made Minister of Magic. Doesn't like Fudge much," Ginny said thoughtfully. "And Dad was glad to see him this summer," she added meaningfully.  
  
"Well, he can't be too bad, then," Hermione said with a sigh. "You'd think, though, that given everything, we might manage to get a good Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher one of these days."  
  
"Right. Maybe next year," Ron said cheerfully, feeling that things were back on track if Hermione was worrying about school already. He laughed. "Maybe they'll hire Bill. Or the twins. Couldn't be worse than the last Defense teacher," he finished cheerfully.  
  
Hermione and Harry grinned, though Hermione looked slightly miffed at Ron's characteristically light treatment of such a serious subject. Neville's attention stayed on his baked potato. Ginny looked thoughtful, then shook her head as if to clear it and changed the subject.  
  
"So what about the DA Club?" she asked, and had everyone's attention. "Harry will be president, of course," she said. The others nodded, as though this were a foregone conclusion. Harry went to protest, but Ginny talked right over his attempt. "Do we think one or two nights a week would be good?" she asked.  
  
"I think one, at least until we get a feel for how good a teacher Carey is," Hermione said decisively. Apparently, she'd given this issue a great deal of thought. "After all, we have tutoring, and you'll all have Quidditch, and Harry will have his Occlumency, won't he?" she asked, and Harry nodded reluctantly, feeling a bit like a backward child.  
  
"Oh, right, Harry, that'll be better than last year, anyway, won't it?" Neville asked, and Harry brightened. He'd almost forgotten that Snape wouldn't be teaching him Occlumency this year. In fact, since Morrigan had been going to teach him, he wasn't entirely sure who was going to take over. Things had been a bit up in the air since the Carricks had disappeared from Number 12 Grimmauld Place last month. Quashing the impulse to wonder if they were all right, he went on eating his roast beef. Somehow, it didn't taste as good as it had moments before.  
  
*  
  
Harry, Ron, and Neville made their way down to the Great Hall and sat down across from Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan. Breakfast was already well underway, and they all ate quickly as Professor McGonagall handed out timetables. Harry glanced at his and groaned. What kind of world was it, he wondered, his food sawdust in his mouth, when he had Potions first thing on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday?  
  
Ron, reading over Harry's shoulder, commiserated. "That's awful," he said sincerely, chewing on a piece of toast. "I've got non-N.E.W.T. Transfiguration first thing. While you're blowing up the Potions classroom, I can be changing my desk into a three-legged dog or something. It'll be fine," he said cheerfully.  
  
Harry laughed, and even Neville looked less spooked at the thought of Snape so early in the morning. "So we'll meet in the infirmary?" Harry asked, and Ron laughed so hard he nearly choked on his toast. Hermione, passing by, thumped him on the back, the toast went down the right pipe, and Ron, red-faced, drank some tea to make sure it stayed there.  
  
Too soon, it was time to leave for class, and after heading back up to their dormitory to get their books, they parted ways, Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Dean descending to the Potions dungeon, and Ron and Seamus walking toward the Transfigurations classroom. Harry wasn't surprised, on arriving, to see Malfoy already there, sharing a table with Pansy Parkinson. He and Hermione grabbed a table beside Neville and Dean, and got settled.  
  
It was strange, Harry thought, as they waited for Snape to make his appearance. Unlike every other Potions class he'd ever been to, there was no nervous chatter before this particular class. No one looked anxious, not even Neville. For the first time in six years, Harry didn't feel like he was about to foul things up simply because he was in this room. For the first time, he felt like he had earned the right to be here. And he didn't need to rely on Hermione's abilities to pull him through the class. He'd passed the test on his own, and the brushing up they'd all done over the summer had him confident that he could indeed handle Potions this year. If they'd done nothing else for him, the Carricks had made him see that he had a knack for Potions, if he only focused on the potion-making and forgot the inevitable baiting by Snape.  
  
Snape walked into the room, the door banging behind him, and the class snapped to attention. Harry caught Neville's eye and gave him an encouraging grin, and Neville grinned back. They were in this together, and they'd get through it together.  
  
"You have all managed," Snape said, his dark eyes gleaming malevolently as he stared at them all, thirty sixth year students who were suddenly fighting not to squirm in their seats, "to obtain an Outstanding in your Potions O.W.L. How some of you managed to attain such high marks," Snape continued, his robes rustling and his lip curling as he stared first at Harry, then at Neville, "is a mystery which, thankfully, I do not have to solve. Needless to say, I expect the same kind of performance throughout this class." He paused, his eyes meeting Harry's. Harry stared back impassively. Snape's eyes seemed to burn for a moment, then he looked away and moved on.  
  
"Today you will begin to master the more difficult Potions. Nothing you have learned in this classroom prior to today will in any way compare to the complex and subtle potions you will be preparing from this moment on. Your first attempt at gaining mastery over Advanced Potions will be the Evanescence Draught. When correctly prepared, it will make whatever it is applied to seem to vanish into a mist. When used on living things, it has some very unfortunate side effects. Does anyone know what those are?"  
  
True to form, Snape ignored Hermione's wildly waving hand and called on several students, none of whom had the correct answer, before going on. "This potion, if applied to an animate object, will cause that object or person to lose its sight, possibly permanently. Can anyone explain why this is?" Snape asked. Hermione's hand went up again, but she obviously didn't expect to be called upon. That was good, Harry thought, because Snape simply curled his lip and answered his own question. "The loss of sight is a common effect of the caecitus root, which is a main ingredient in this potion."  
  
Snape sighed heavily. "I expect you to uphold the standards of all of my former N.E.W.T. Potions students and be far more prepared for class than you seem to be today," he said. His black eyes gleamed in the dimly lit dungeon. Harry and Hermione exchanged a look, and Harry saw her smile ever so slightly. "The method and ingredients for preparing the potion is on the blackboard. You have an hour and a half. Begin." Shooting the entire class an exasperated look, he sat down at his desk and thirty students began the laborious process of preparing the most difficult potion they'd ever heard of, let alone attempted.  
  
Harry didn't notice the time passing. He slipped on his dragonhide gloves and began chopping his caecitus root precisely. He didn't consciously perform the task the way Morrigan had showed him, didn't realise that he was measuring each piece with the tip of his knife to see that they were all uniform. He didn't realise that he had chopped all his ingredients on his table in the order they were supposed to be added before even beginning to put the potion together. He didn't realise that he was measuring hornwater and dragonsblood before he added anything to his cauldron. All he knew was that his ingredients were ready before he began to prepare his potion, and that was how it was supposed to be.  
  
He looked at the blackboard, checked the fire under his cauldron, and added the hornwater and the dragonsblood at the same time. He let that simmer for five minutes, stirring with his wand, and added the caecitus root. As the instructions noted, this made his potion turn bright red, then, as it simmered down, light blue. He took his time, following the instructions exactly, re-measuring his ingredients as he added them. He stirred when the instructions said to stir, and left it alone when the instructions said to leave it alone. When his potion had been simmering on its own for nearly a half-hour, his concentration was broken by the sound of Snape's voice.  
  
"Your potions should now be a bright blue, with a slight silvery vapour," Snape said, starting to walk through the rows of tables.  
  
"Malfoy, you didn't add enough caecitus root. Your potion is too weak," Snape said, as Malfoy's watery blue potion gave off a weak puff of dark-grey smoke, then subsided as if exhausted. Snape walked around the tables, delivering unpleasant summaries of failure more often than not as he paused by each table to examine the potions.  
  
He arrived at Harry and Hermione's table. They said nothing. Hermione's potion was bright blue, with a light silver mist floating above it. Harry's, though not quite as bright a blue, had a respectable silvery vapour hanging over it. Snape's lip curled, and his eyes swept across their table coldly before he moved on. He made no comment on Neville's potion, nor on Dean's, before he swept back toward the front of the room.  
  
Harry and Hermione shared a grin. Looking over at Dean and Neville, they grinned again. At the end of class, they carefully prepared flasks of their potions and labeled them just as carefully, then set them on Snape's desk. They cleared up after themselves only after Snape had taken their flasks away-they had learned that much from Potions class the year before- and they headed out the door. One Potions class down, too many to count left to go.  
  
*  
  
After lunch, Harry, Ron, and Hermione headed out to Hagrid's hut. They hadn't had a chance to see him the day before except from a distance, and they'd missed him over the summer. He must have been waiting for them; when Hermione knocked on his door, it swung open with a whoosh of air that nearly sucked them into the wooden hut.  
  
"'Bout time!" Hagrid said, beaming down at them from behind bushy whiskers. "I was hopin' you lot would happen by soon!" He motioned them in and shut the door behind them, looking them over anxiously as though he'd expected to see some kind of visible damage before nodding gruffly and sitting down with them at the table. "Would yeh like some tea?"  
  
"Oh, thanks, Hagrid, but we've just come from lunch," Hermione said. Ron and Harry nodded, knowing from experience that it paid to avoid eating anything Hagrid had made. His cooking was well-intentioned but best avoided. "Where's Fang?" she asked.  
  
"'E's in the Forest, with Grawpy," Hagrid said, smiling. "Keeps 'im comp'ny, since I can't get there too often these days. Getting' ready for classes and all that," he added.  
  
"How is.err.Grawpy?" Hermione asked, her expression as bright as she could make it. She didn't particularly like remembering her encounters with Grawp, Hagrid's half-brother, a sixteen-foot tall giant whose command of English didn't extend much past the name he'd given her-Hermy.  
  
"Oh, he's settlin' in, sure enough," Hagrid said cheerfully. "An' I wanted ter thank yer for takin' care of him last year," he added, his expression suddenly serious.  
  
"Anything we could do," Harry said quickly, seeing that Hermione was about to protest that they hadn't done anything at all. She would have been accurate to say it, but Harry thought it might lead to a conversation about what had happened last June at the Ministry, and he didn't want to ruin a good day by getting into all that. Still, on the subject of Grawp, he was glad to see that Hagrid didn't seem to have any visible bruises. Last year the Centaurs had hurt Hagrid badly, every time he'd gone into the Forest to visit his half-brother. Either Hagrid had gotten better at avoiding the Centaurs, or the Centaurs had chosen to ignore Hagrid's trips into the Forest. Harry wondered if Dumbledore had made more work for Hagrid in order to keep him out of danger for a time.  
  
They talked some more about Grawp's adjustment to the Forest, about his increasing command of the English language-though it didn't seem to Harry as though Grawp's command was increasing all that rapidly. They tried to pump Hagrid for information about Professor Carey, but he didn't seem to know much about the man, just that he "seemed a nice feller." On that disappointing news, Harry turned the subject to the plans Hagrid had for the N.E.W.T. Care of Magical Creatures Class.  
  
Hermione was a bit uneasy with the change in subject. "Hagrid, I'm so very sorry I can't take your class," she said, looking uncomfortable. "It's just that with Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes, and-"  
  
Hagrid chuckled. "Tha's all right, Hermione," he said, patting her shoulder in what was meant to be a comforting way. She nearly fell out of her chair, but grinned back at him, afraid that his feelings had been hurt all the same. "Better yeh don't overwork yerself," Hagrid told her earnestly. "There's only so many hours in a day, yeh know. And yer prone to takin' on too much. What with bein' a Prefect an' all," he said, beaming at her, "ye've got enough to do. Too much, knowin' yeh." He shook his head, teasing, and she smiled.  
  
All too soon, it was time for Hagrid's first N.E.W.T. Care of Magical Creatures class of the year, and Hermione had to leave in order to read up for her Arithmancy class later that afternoon. Harry and Ron headed outside to meet up with Neville, Dean, and Seamus for class. They hadn't been outside long when Hagrid came out from around the back of his hut, beaming from ear to ear, trailing a large, sharp-horned creature on a leash.  
  
"Here we go again," Seamus said with a long-suffering sigh, and Dean nodded. Neville looked as though he agreed but wasn't going to say so out loud to Harry or Ron. Harry, with a sinking feeling, watched Hagrid's eyes sparkling happily, and hoped that the fifty or so students would all survive the class period. He was just grateful Hagrid hadn't turned up with a Chimaera. Still, as Ron pointed out fatalistically while they were walking back to the castle after a tense two hours with the Graphorn, it was only the first class. There was no telling what Hagrid was working up to.  
  
*  
  
"Oh, Ron! Harry! It's the first Hogsmeade weekend! And far earlier this year, too!" Hermione exclaimed, looking at the bulletin board in the Gryffindor Common. It was their second Monday back at school, and despite the smaller number of classes they were taking, their schedules had proved far busier than they had expected. Three or four classes a day, tutoring, meeting after dinner to work on organising the DA Club, planning for Quidditch, and Ron and Hermione's Prefect duties were taking their toll already. Hermione had taken to saying, "It's just not a routine yet. Once it's routine it will get better," in a half-frantic voice that was grating on peoples' nerves because they agreed with it wholeheartedly. The sixth year Gryffindors hadn't expected this school year to start off in high gear, and now that it had, they were struggling to keep up the pace.  
  
And it wasn't just the Gryffindors. At dinner the night before, six Ravenclaws and three Hufflepuffs who had caught wind of the tutoring sessions, had come up to Harry and Ron, asking if they could be included. Harry had sent Hedwig to Alhena Farrell with a message asking if that was all right, and she had responded almost immediately, saying that anyone who wanted in on the tutoring sessions was welcome to come along. So the sessions had grown from six people to fifteen, before the second week of school had even begun.  
  
Alhena Farrell, Harry thought, just might be their salvation this school year. She was tough when it came to expecting you to figure your way through a problem. But she was fair, and she was good at explaining concepts in ways that made them seem logical rather than difficult. He'd heard Ron complaining to Neville, half-jokingly, that she wasn't as good to look at as Morrigan had been, but she sure knew her stuff. Harry had to admit, that was the truth. His cousin or not, Morrigan had been nice to look at. Alhena was just.Alhena. She wore brown robes and had brown hair and brown eyes and seemed to fade into the woodwork wherever she stood, but she was good-natured and inoffensive and very, very smart.  
  
That was not the case with Professor Carey. The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was good-natured and inoffensive, that much was true. But calling him smart would be a generous assessment of his abilities where teaching was concerned. Harry didn't consider himself a genius where Defense Against the Dark Arts was concerned, but he thought he'd covered more in DA the previous year than Professor Carey would be likely to cover in ten years. Still, at least Carey wasn't actively working against them like Umbridge had.  
  
"Can't wait to see Fred and George's new place," Ron said, brightening at the thought. "If it's even half as good as the one in Diagon Alley, this is going to be a great year in Hogsmeade."  
  
"What do you think it'll be like, Harry?" Hermione said, and Harry thought a minute, then shrugged.  
  
"I'm sure it'll be just as good as the one in Diagon Alley," he said after a moment. "You'll have to tell me."  
  
"You're not going?" Ron asked, eyes wide with surprise.  
  
"Don't see how I can," Harry said gloomily. "No permission form," he said with a heavy sigh. "Sirius.signed the last one, and I don't even know who would sign one this year," he said, and sighed. "I talked to Professor McGonagall, and she said that you have to have a new one every year."  
  
"Harry, there has to be someone to sign a note," Hermione protested. "We'll talk to Professor McGonagall and find out. Or Professor Dumbledore. There's got to be a way to work it out."  
  
"I guess so," Harry said, then shook his mood off. "I'll try and ask her tomorrow, I guess, after Transfiguration."  
  
Hermione and Ron brightened. "Good," Ron said, nodding. "We'll get it worked out. So what's tonight, Charms?" he asked, looking through his bag to see if he had his Charms book with him.  
  
"Charms and Transfigurations," Hermione said, nodding. "And then we're free for an entire night. Except for homework," she said, a little gloomily. Ron and Harry looked at her, surprised. She noticed them looking at her and gave a little laugh. "It's just that everything's so much more tense this year," she said, shrugging.  
  
"You're not kidding. What happened to having a little fun?" Ron asked, frowning.  
  
"Well, we'll make some of our own. In D.A.," Harry decided, and was gratified to see the pleased looks on their faces. Remembering how angry he'd been the year before, he supposed it was quite a change for them, to have him throwing out any positive suggestions. He didn't know why he wasn't just as angry this year. He had more reason to be angry this year than he'd had the year before. For some reason, though, what anger he had seemed to be coming slower, in fits and starts he could deal with, rather than in great rolling waves the way it had last year. His grief was doing the same thing, remaining at a level that he could cope with. He didn't understand why it was different this year. But he was grateful.  
  
"You know, you're turning over a new leaf," Ron said, then groaned. "I sound like my Mum. She says things like that all the time." He peered across the room into a mirror on the far wall, as though to make sure he wasn't turning into Molly Weasley, making Hermione bite her lip against laughter.  
  
Harry grinned and sat down in one of the leather chairs in front of the fireplace. Ron took another. Hermione decided on the sofa, and let her bookbag fall to the floor with a heavy thud. "I don't know why, but it's different this year. I'm still really mad, and I still really miss Sirius. But it's not coming at me all at once anymore." It hadn't been, he realised, since he'd talked to Morrigan in the garden the first day he'd met her. That had been when everything had turned around.  
  
He didn't realise that he'd spoken out loud until Ron asked, "Do you think she worked some kind of spell on you?" he asked.  
  
Harry shrugged uneasily. It sounded a bit silly, when it was said out loud.  
  
"I wonder what kind of spell it would be?" Hermione asked thoughtfully. "And how it could have lasted so long." She trailed off, lost in thought. Harry could almost hear the wheels turning in her head, and wasn't at all surprised to hear her say, after a good five minutes, "We should look it up, and see if there are any spells like that. I don't think it's right that someone is casting spells on Harry without him knowing about it. Not ever, but especially not these days."  
  
"Maybe Alhena would know," Ron said, hoping to cut the prospective research session short.  
  
Hermione looked at Ron, then beamed at him. Ron's ears turned pink. "Great idea, Ron. You can ask her at the end of the session tonight, and we'll compare notes-I'm going to go to the library."  
  
Ron and Harry watched her stand up and walk out of the common room, and exchanged a look. They were both impressed by her willingness to spend hours in the library, but unwilling to join her there, unless there was a concrete reason. Asking Alhena was definitely the easier of the two options. They felt lucky to have landed that part of the assignment.  
  
Waiting in line to talk to Alhena after the tutoring session, however, they realised that Hermione had gotten the easier choice after all. Everyone seemed to have a question, or a problem, or need advice on something. Harry and Ron ended up missing dinner; by the time they realised that dinner was nearly over, they were next in line, and they had spent too much time waiting to rush down to dinner and have to wait all over again later.  
  
The room had cleared by the time they reached the front of the line. Alhena grinned at them and sat down on top of the teacher's desk in the nearly empty unused classroom Dumbledore had assigned for their tutoring sessions. "What's up, guys?" she asked. "Must be something important for you to miss dinner, Ron."  
  
Ron grinned at her and leaned against the nearest table. He shrugged even as he turned pink. Harry barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. It seemed that, these days, if any female other than his mother spoke to Ron, Ron turned red. "Well, it might be important," Harry said, then frowned. "Is there some kind of a spell to, I don't know, sort of make someone not lose their temper, or make someone not freak out ?"  
  
She could have laughed. Harry wouldn't have blamed her one bit; he hadn't explained it very well. Nevertheless, after a brief moment of biting her lip that could have been simply coincidental, Alhena asked the one question that meant she was taking it seriously. "Do you mean not losing your temper just once, or not losing your temper long-term?" she asked, her brown eyes intent on his face.  
  
"Well, long-term," Harry said. Her eyebrows rose in the way Harry knew meant she wanted him to elaborate. "It's kind of complicated. You know Morrigan, right?" he asked. Ron looked up, surprised. It was the first time since the Carricks had left Grimmauld Place that Harry had said Morrigan's name out loud.  
  
"I know Morrigan, yes," Alhena said with a nod. Her eyes seemed to gleam for a moment, but it might have been the torchlight.  
  
"Well, when I met her, we were talking about Sirius," Harry said with a heavy sigh. "About how I was angry about what happened, about how he died and how it all came about." Alhena nodded again, encouraging him to go on. "And after we had talked, it seemed that everything that was making me angry sort of stopped making me angry," he said helplessly, shrugging. "I don't know how that could be, except that it got better. I was still angry, and I was still sad, but it wasn't -" He stopped, unsure of how to explain it.  
  
"It wasn't as overwhelming?" Alhena asked. Harry nodded. "And you're thinking maybe she put a spell on you that you weren't aware of?" Alhena continued. Harry nodded again, joined by Ron.  
  
Alhena smiled. "It's possible, I suppose," she said, and walked over to the window, used her wand to urge it open amid a neat burst of red sparks, and lit a cigarette. "Sorry," she said, gesturing toward the cigarette. "Long day." She grinned at them, tapped ashes out the window, and got back on track. "Right. Well, like I said, it's possible that she put a spell on you, Harry. Though I doubt it. It's not really the kind of thing she'd do to a friend, or a relative. I know we don't see eye to eye on the issue of Morrigan," she continued, seeming somewhat surprised that Harry hadn't protested yet, "but throwing spells at people without their knowledge, especially a serious spell like that, isn't her style. She's made mistakes, sure. Haven't we all? But she wouldn't cast a spell that changed the way you saw the world without your knowledge. Not without your permission," she added thoughtfully.  
  
She wasn't done, it was clear, just pausing. Harry and Ron, empty stomachs forgotten, waited. "I suppose it might have been a touch of Elven magic," she said after a few moments. "More like a bit of healing than a spell, really. Because you haven't forgotten anything. You're feeling the same things you felt before, just in a way that you can manage, right?" she asked. Harry nodded. "I'll see what I can find out," she said, "without creating any waves. All right?"  
  
"That'd be great," Ron said, and Harry nodded again. They headed out of the classroom when she laughingly shooed them out, and found Hermione in the Gryffindor Common Room with food she'd snuck out of the Great Hall during dinner. Between mouthfuls of bread, they updated her on what they'd found out from Alhena. Hermione, who hadn't found anything in her search of the library, nodded, satisfied, and turned the subject to the first D.A. meeting the next day. Willing to be distracted, Ron and Harry joined in the discussion and didn't even complain when Hermione decided it was time for them to tackle their homework for the night.  
  
*  
  
Sighing, Malcolm led the way into his apartment, and dropped heavily onto the sofa. Kingsley and Tonks, who had come over after work, followed him inside. He sprang back up again almost immediately, drawing soft laughter from the armchair near the fireplace. Kingsley and Tonks tensed, then relaxed when they saw who it was. Tonks' face acquired an odd sort of grin; Kingley's face took on a polite smile.  
  
"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you." The voice was as soft as the laughter had been, and, recognising it, he relaxed. Sitting back down, Malcolm shook his head, amused at himself. Had it been someone his locks hadn't been charmed to recognise, that someone would be sitting outside his front door in considerable discomfort. She'd only startled him because of her disconcerting habit of blending into her surroundings; she was like a brown chameleon, her robes mixing with the brown leather of the armchair to make her all but undetectable from a quick glance.  
  
"I needed to borrow a book or two from Morrigan's stash," Alhena said in explanation. "And I figured you wouldn't mind overly much if I waited inside."  
  
"Of course not," Malcolm said with a laugh. "You're welcome to any of it. If she needs it back anytime soon, she'll find you."  
  
"The first Hogsmeade weekend is coming up. You'll be there?" she asked, an eyebrow raised in his direction.  
  
"I'll be there," he told her with a nod. "Tea?"  
  
"No, thanks." She sighed and sank deeper into the leather chair, wishing she could simply go to sleep. "It'll keep me up all night if I start drinking it now."  
  
A knock at the door had them both looking up. Malcolm sighed, stood again, and went to answer the door. He opened it after a moment, grinning widely, and Alhena grinned as she saw Bill and Charlie Weasley standing in the hallway.  
  
After everyone was settled, Bill and Charlie on the sofa and Malcolm on the leather armchair that matched Alhena's, Charlie broke the sudden silence. When he spoke, Malcolm realised that both Weasley brothers had decided to act as though Kingsley didn't know the truth about Alhena, and he was grateful for it. As many people as already knew the truth, it simply didn't make sense to keep letting people in on the whole thing. If anyone else found out, it wouldn't be a disguise at all, just a makeover.  
  
"Any news of Morrigan, then?" he asked without much hope.  
  
"None," Malcolm said with a shake of his head. "The latest was a few days ago. Tonks found out that she's working free-lance for MacInnes. Apparently, she's handling what MacInnes called a special case, which will last indefinitely." Malcolm shrugged, and frowned. "I've sent her a few owls. They come back without replies, but they come back. And if Mor was hurt or.anything," he said, "They wouldn't come back so calmly. She's had Finn since she was sixteen, and I've had Conn as long. So she's safe, physically at least, wherever she is."  
  
Bill and Charlie digested that silently. Charlie's face was troubled. Bill wore a thoughtful frown.  
  
"So where the hell could she be?" Charlie asked. "I mean, you've checked the Wands, you've checked with Tristan, you've checked with her other friends. She didn't just disappear into thin air, did she?" he wondered, exasperated.  
  
"I doubt it," Malcolm said, amused despite himself. "Even for Morrigan, that would be a feat."  
  
"The owls come back quickly?" Bill asked, and Malcolm considered, then nodded. "So she's close by. Just not in sight." He frowned again, more deeply this time. "Where else does she go?" he wondered out loud.  
  
"Did you try the Dark of the Moon?" Alhena asked. Bill and Charlie, who seemed to have all but forgotten she was there after their initial hellos, looked at her, startled.  
  
"The Dark of the Moon?" Charlie asked, sounding appalled. "Why would she be there? It makes the Hog's Head look like Buckingham Palace," he added, clearly not liking the idea that Morrigan might be there alone. "It's full of." his voice trailed off, and his eyes met Alhena's reluctantly.  
  
"It's full of Death Eaters and their friends," Alhena said, nodding. "Which means she might well be there."  
  
"She's not a Death Eater," Charlie protested hotly, half-standing in his anger.  
  
"She's not," Alhena agreed calmly. "Yet." This had the effect of making Charlie's legs collapse beneath him weakly. "But she's spending an awful lot of time with MacInnes and Whiting lately. Who are certainly Death Eaters, and who are certainly trying their damnedest to recruit her." Her logic was inarguable, but no one particularly wanted to hear it. Charlie looked horrified. Bill's eyes flashed once, dangerously. Kingsley looked disturbed. Tonks appeared troubled, but she was clearly thinking hard.  
  
"You think they'll manage to turn her," Tonks asked, her voice soft but humming with tension and anger. And, Malcolm thought, outrage.  
  
"I think she may become a Death Eater," Alhena said softly.  
  
It was, Bill thought, a fine distinction, but a valid one. Given what he'd heard in the Carricks' kitchen last month, Bill thought that it was entirely possible that Morrigan would do what Bill suspected Snape had done-become a Death Eater and spy on Voldemort's followers for the Order. Yet, Bill thought, Snape at least had an audience within the Order. Morrigan had nothing of the sort; most of the members wouldn't even mention her name.  
  
"She can't," Charlie said stubbornly. "It's not necessary, and it's too damned dangerous. She could be killed."  
  
"Any of us could be killed," Alhena said simply. "We don't even need to spy on Voldemort to have it happen. We could just be walking down the street. These days, it doesn't particularly matter, does it?"  
  
That question hung in the air like a leaden cloud, dark and heavy in the dimly lit room. Malcolm sighed and pointed his wand at the fireplace, starting a fire that dispelled some of the gloom.  
  
"You've checked the house in Inverness?" Alhena asked Malcolm, in an attempt to make up for the pall she'd cast over the conversation. Charlie brightened perceptibly.  
  
"She wouldn't go there," Malcolm said with a frown. "Seamus is back in town."  
  
"Oh. Right. She wouldn't be anywhere near Inverness, then, would she?" Alhena asked with a sigh. "Too bad. It would have been a good place for her to stay."  
  
"Your Dad wouldn't let her stay there?" Kingsley asked, looking appalled.  
  
Malcolm snorted. "He wouldn't notice if she paraded through the house leading a brass band. He's never noticed her, unless she was doing something wrong. But she wouldn't go to the house if he was in it. She avoids him like the plague. Frankly, I do it myself whenever I can. It makes me sick to see the way he treats her. Always has." Malcolm shrugged. It was a problem for another day and another conversation. "Anyway, the point is, anywhere she might be likely to be, other than the Dark of the Moon, has been checked. She isn't there."  
  
An owl glided in through the open window and settled on the arm of the leather chair, as close to Malcolm's wrist as it could get. Malcolm grinned at the huge bird, a beautiful eagle owl with amber eyes that gleamed with intelligence, and stroked its head for a short while before it offered its leg to him. The parchment tied there crinkled as Malcolm freed it, and with a soft hoot, the owl took wing back out the window, into the night.  
  
"That was Seamus' owl, or one of them anyway. Phineas," Malcolm explained absently. "He tends to be shy of company." He unrolled the parchment. The change in his face was slight but drew everyone's attention. "It's from Seamus," he said, looking up. His eyes were wide and surprised in the glow of the fire. "He wants to see Morrigan and me this Sunday, at the house." He sighed. "Merlin only knows what he wants now. Or whether she'll show."  
  
"Well, you might as well give her as much chance as possible to arrange it," Alhena said reasonably, and Malcolm nodded, then summoned parchment and a quill, and dashed off a note to his sister. He whistled, and a rustle of wings came from the corner. Charlie and Bill looked over and saw a medium-sized eagle owl blinking at them from a wooden perch set most of the way up the built-in bookcases. "Oh. Before I forget, I'm going to get those books, all right?" Alhena asked.  
  
Malcolm, busy securing his message to Morrigan to the owl's leg, waved her on. She got up from her chair and headed up the staircase leading to Morrigan's flat. When the owl had left, Malcolm asked Charlie and Bill about Hogsmeade that weekend.  
  
In a few minutes, Alhena was back, two large Potions books in her arms. "Brushing up on a few things," she explained, when Charlie looked at her oddly. "It's for the tutoring," she added. "There are a few things I want to get a little more familiar with. Snape's not pulling any punches, although he seems to be enjoying himself now that he can't intimidate Harry and Neville as easily. Sick bastard," she said cheerfully, and had Charlie and Bill laughing.  
  
"So they're holding their own?" Bill asked, interested.  
  
"Oh, more than holding their own," she said cheerfully. "That's not to say that they don't struggle, but they've managed to convince themselves that they can do it, if they focus, and with Potions, that's half the battle. Ron's keeping up as well, in Potions. He's doing the homework without the classwork, and he's showing what he seems to think is a very unexpected talent for Potions, sans Professor Snape." She grinned, clearly thrilled for Ron, and Ron's older brothers grinned back.  
  
"What about Charms and Transfigurations?" Charlie asked, eyebrows raised.  
  
"One step at a time," was all she said, but she said it cheerfully. Ron's brothers, correctly, took this to mean that while Ron still needed work at those two subjects, he wasn't beyond all hope. They looked at each other and silently agreed to make sure their parents got that news as soon as they could manage it.  
  
"So the tutoring is working out, then?" Bill asked, curious.  
  
"Oh, it's going grand, isn't it?" she grinned. "Tonight I had fifteen of them, and tomorrow's looking like there'll be a few more."  
  
"They're flocking, aren't they?" Charlie asked, mystified.  
  
She laughed. "I think they were expecting a bit of a build-up period at the beginning of the school year, and it didn't happen. They just got everything thrown at them at once, and it's thrown them for a bit of a loop. It'll die down once they settle in," she said with a shrug. "But it's fun for now," she told them. "It's great watching them figure out that things aren't quite as much out of their reach as they originally thought."  
  
"If you say so," Charlie said with a sigh. "You're braver than I am. I couldn't take it."  
  
She just smiled. Bill knew that smile. It was strange, he thought, to see Morrigan Carrick's slightly crooked smile on Alhena Farrell's face. Then he realised how ridiculous that thought was, and had a hard time not laughing at himself.  
  
"Has Ron gotten any more owls from Percy?" Malcolm asked, and Bill, his attention distracted, looked away from Alhena. Kingsley and Tonks had been brought in on that development when Mal and Morrigan had lost their jobs. Malcolm had felt, and Charlie and Bill had agreed, that there was a need for someone else who could keep an eye out on the Ministry side of the Percy situation. The two Aurors leaned forward, looking very interested.  
  
"Not as far as we know. And we've already gotten an owl from him at school. Well, he sent it to me, because he didn't know that Charlie's back in the country. We decided to wait and surprise him this weekend."  
  
"Your transfer came through to the Welsh dragon preserve, then?" Malcolm asked Charlie, who nodded.  
  
"I'm in Wales," he said, nodding, "working with the Greens, for now. Not quite as crazy as I'm used to, but that might not be a bad thing these days. I can probably transfer back after this all wraps itself up," he said, sounding unconcerned. "But even if I can't, some things are more important."  
  
Malcolm, who but for the situation would have been playing professional Quidditch, and Bill, who would have been back in Egypt working as a Gringotts Cursebreaker, both nodded. They understood exactly what Charlie was talking about. Malcolm, grinning slightly, looked at Alhena. "What would you be doing if it weren't for all this?" he asked her.  
  
She colored ever so slightly, then shrugged. "Professional Quidditch player?" she suggested, and started to laugh. The others laughed with her, because if ever anyone had looked less likely to be a professional Quidditch player, it was mousy little Alhena Farrell.  
  
After discussing the coming meeting in Hogsmeade and Fred and George's progress on the Hogsmeade shop, they were interrupted by a flutter of wings from the window. Conn glided over to rest on Malcolm's arm, and held out his leg. The silence was charged.  
  
"Sorry it took Conn pecking me hard enough to draw blood to get back to you," he read, and the relieved grin on his face was enough to lighten the tension in the room. "I've been here, there, and everywhere, and it's all I can do to find a minute to sit down let alone write back." He snorted at that, obviously not believing it but accepting it for the moment. "Conn seems to think you're fine, so I'll trust to that until I see you on Sunday. You won't see me on Saturday, I don't want to make things difficult for Harry. By the way, don't forget to send his permission slip for Hogsmeade. It should be on your desk. Morrigan."  
  
Malcolm stood up and walked over to his desk. Lying on top of a pile of books he hadn't found time to put away yet was a heavy parchment envelope, sealed with a dollop of silvery wax imprinted with a sickle moon, addressed in Morrigan's impossibly neat script to Professor McGonagall, Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A faint beak impression across the top of the envelope told him Morrigan had sent it by way of Finn, earlier in the day. He knew the envelope hadn't been there this morning when he'd taken his briefcase off of his desk.  
  
"I'll be damned. We almost forgot the most important part of the Hogsmeade plans," Malcolm said softly. "Getting Harry permission to go to Hogsmeade."  
  
Bill's eyes widened. "I completely forgot you have to get permission every year," he said, closing his eyes on a groan. "So Sirius' permission slip wouldn't be any good this year."  
  
Malcolm nodded, whistled a two-note call for Finn. When Morrigan's owl immediately flew over to perch on his shoulder, Malcolm handed Finn the note and told him to take it to Professor McGonagall. Finn ruffled his feathers proudly, took the envelope up in his beak, and flew off through the window into the darkness. Malcolm sat back down, lit up a cigarette, and tossed the pack to Alhena. She took one, lit it with a softly-spoken spell, and passed it along to Bill. From Bill, it went to Charlie, until they were all smoking and thinking.  
  
"We'll have good security in place for Saturday, then?" Alhena asked after a few moments.  
  
Malcolm nodded. "Tonks, Moody, and Kingsley will be around. Some other Order members will be there, and nearly the entire faculty. Carey won't be there. No one's too sure of him yet."  
  
Bill snorted with exasperated amusement. "With the school's track record on Defense teachers, the longer they take making sure of him the better. I know he's in the Order, but that doesn't mean he's entirely on our side."  
  
Alhena nodded. "He's very nice, very eager to please, and not too very bright. He's also developed a strange habit, since arriving at the school, of being unavailable whenever you want to speak with him, hasn't he?" she asked, her expression turning thoughtful.  
  
"I'll see what I can find out from Dad," Bill decided. "If you ask," he told Charlie, "it'll look suspicious. You've been more involved in the recruiting side of things to date."  
  
Charlie nodded. "And I wouldn't have much use for the information at the preserve," he said with his customary good humor. "Any news on the Gryffindor Quidditch team?" he asked Alhena.  
  
She grinned. "Well, at the moment, Harry and Ron are trying to convince Katie Bell to be captain. She's trying to turn it down, and Minerva hasn't stepped in to solve the whole thing. Katie says that after watching Angelina struggle with it last year, she wants to play and not to be captain. Harry's the next most senior, and he's not sure he wants it. Ron wants it but doesn't think he's earned it yet. He's probably right; he's only been on the team for a year. I figure it'll take another few days for Ginny to step in and suggest that Ron and Harry co-captain the team. That should take care of that.  
  
"They haven't had any tryouts yet-they're set for the end of this week. As far as the people who are planning on coming back to the team, it's looking like Harry will be Seeker, Ron will be Keeper, and Katie and Ginny will be Chasers. They're still looking for two Beaters and a Chaser, and they seem to want reserve players as well." Alhena obviously thought that was a good idea. "It doesn't look like they'll be as all-out strong as they were last year. They're really missing Fred and George about now. If they find one more decent Chaser, they'll be all right, but it's the Beaters who are going to be crucial. They've got no one right now. The two guys who filled in for Fred and George last year beat themselves up almost as badly as the other teams beat them up, and they aren't particularly keen on coming back, unless it's as reserves."  
  
"Sounds pretty grim," Charlie observed.  
  
"It is pretty grim," Alhena said with a laugh. "But they'll put something together, they always seem to manage." Though there didn't seem to be any real reason for her optimism, Charlie seemed reassured. Bill, amused at himself, felt the same as his brother. If Alhena thought that things were all right, they were. It was, somehow, that simple.  
  
After a while, Charlie reluctantly stood up. Tomorrow would be an early morning for him, only his third at the preserve in Wales, and he had work to clear up before he could get to bed. Bill, knowing how much he had to take care of at work, got up as well. Alhena gave them all a grin and a wave, and Disapparated back to Tristan's house in Hogsmeade with barely a sound.  
  
"Amazing, how good she is at that," Charlie said, shaking his head. He and Bill laughed with Malcolm, Tonks, and Kingsley. Four of them Disapparated, very obviously making an effort to be as quiet as Alhena had been. Malcolm, a grin on his face, finished up some research he'd been doing with back issues of the Prophet and went to bed early. It was going to be a very busy week. 


	8. Meeting Expectations

Chapter Eight: Meeting Expectations  
  
Harry hung back as the other students in Professor McGonagall's N.E.W.T. Transfiguration class filed out of the room. Neville raised his brows, his eyes widening comically at Harry in what Harry assumed was a show of support. Hermione smiled at him, then nodded toward Professor McGonagall so emphatically that her hair fell forward, hiding her face. She brushed it back impatiently and nodded again. Her hair fell forward again. Harry nodded and looked down to hide his grin. He walked up to Professor McGonagall's desk and waited until she looked up from clearing away her notes.  
  
"Yes, Potter?" she asked, as stern as ever, "What can I do for you?"  
  
Now that the moment had arrived, Harry wasn't sure how to begin. "Well, Professor, the first Hogsmeade weekend is coming up," he began, and stopped. "I-" At a loss, he stopped again, sighed, and blurted out, "I wasn't sure about the permission form and I know I don't have one-"  
  
"Not to worry, Potter," Professor McGonagall said briskly, her eyes sparkling briefly with something that might have been amusement. "Your permission form was delivered this morning, by post owl. That might be a good thing, your mind being as preoccupied as it has been today," she said briskly. Harry saw that gleam in her eyes again, and was sure that it was amusement. Remembering how he'd turned his teapot into a three-legged rabbit with one ear a half-hour earlier, Harry felt his ears burning. He supposed he'd had that one coming.  
  
All of a sudden, the import of what she'd said caught his attention. "You already have my permission form?" he asked, hoping desperately he'd heard right.  
  
"That's right, Potter," Professor McGonagall said with a nod. "I have your permission form."  
  
"But.who.I forgot all about it before beginning of term," Harry said, his mind racing. Had the Weasleys signed a form for him? Had Professor Lupin? "Sirius signed my last form, and I wasn't sure what." He stopped again, his mind utterly blank. He simply didn't understand who would have signed the form. Merlin knew it certainly hadn't been the Dursleys.  
  
Professor McGonagall arched an eyebrow at him. "Potter, are you trying to tell me that you didn't know anyone was going to sign a form for you, and that you don't know who signed the one I received?" she asked sternly, her lips thinning. Harry had the impression that she was teasing him. He wasn't at all sure he was comfortable with that idea.  
  
He considered trying to fake it. He thought about lying outright. Harry knew it wouldn't work, and had a feeling that it wouldn't gain him any points with Professor McGonagall if he tried to brazen it out. "I suppose that's what I'm saying," he said after a moment. His nod was reluctant, but it was a nod.  
  
Professor McGonagall's face lost its sternness, and she smiled at him. "Perhaps your cousin's high opinion of your maturity isn't entirely wrong, Potter," she said. "She was the one who signed the form."  
  
For a moment, Harry drew a blank, then it hit him. Morrigan. He supposed he wasn't used to having a female cousin. He certainly wouldn't have expected Professor McGonagall to approve of Morrigan Carrick, not with the way McGonagall acted toward Professor Snape. Still, he knew he'd heard approval in her voice when she'd mentioned Morrigan.  
  
As though she hadn't noticed his confusion, Professor McGonagall went on. "I had my doubts as to whether you should be walking around Hogsmeade. I didn't think it would be the smartest course to take such a risk for such a trivial reason. However, your cousin's note convinced me otherwise. She said that it was, of course, my decision, but that if we allowed ourselves to be governed by fear and to stop living our lives, Voldemort wouldn't have to beat us. We'd have beaten ourselves." Professor McGonagall paused. "I decided that I would wait and see how you approached the issue, Potter," she said. Harry had no doubt that, had he snuck out of the castle with the Invisibility Cloak, he would never have set foot in Hogsmeade again, permission form or no. "At the moment, I'm inclined to believe that your cousin was right." She smiled.  
  
"Thanks, Professor McGonagall," Harry said, beaming back at her. She nodded. He turned to go.  
  
"Potter. One more thing," she said. Harry turned back. He saw that she was holding a folded piece of parchment in her hand. "Your cousin also sent this for you. I'd nearly forgotten it."  
  
Harry wasn't fooled. He didn't think for a moment that Professor McGonagall had forgotten the note. She had simply been waiting to give it to him until she'd gauged his reaction to the news that Morrigan had sent a permission form for him. Frankly, Harry didn't know what his reaction was. He couldn't decide whether he was grateful or suspicious. However, whatever Professor McGonagall had seen in his face had been enough for her to decide to give him the note. And when he took it, he was again torn between gratitude and suspicion.  
  
"Thanks," Harry said, and turned to go again.  
  
Professor McGonagall called him back once more. "Potter," she said, and Harry heard a simple, no-nonsense sympathy in her voice that eased the tightening in his chest. "You've lived through enough to know that things are not always as they seem." Harry waited, but that seemed to be all Professor McGonagall seemed to think she needed to say. Nodding, as confused as ever, Harry headed to the Great Hall for lunch.  
  
*  
  
After two straight free periods spent studying with Ron and Neville in the Gryffindor Common Room, Harry hurried into the Great Hall for dinner and slid into the empty spot between Neville and Ron. He began to spoon steak and kidney pie onto his plate, enjoying the curious stares of his friends. Ron had gone so far as to stop eating altogether, waiting for news. Harry, whose uneasy suspicion had melted into a kind of giddy relief as he got closer and closer to the Great Hall, was nearly bursting with the need to blurt out his news, but he was having too much fun watching his friends fighting the urge to demand whatever information he had about Hogsmeade that he took an extra helping of mashed potatoes and added some string beans, which he didn't even like, simply to tease them all.  
  
"I've got permission to go to Hogsmeade," he said finally, casually, and took a huge bite of steak and kidney pie.  
  
Ron's eyes bugged out comically. "Harry! What--who--when--" He stopped, and started again, going so far as to put down his fork in his excitement. "How--?" He gave up, turning to Hermione to clear things up.  
  
"Ooh, Harry, that's terrific!" Hermione beamed at him. "But who signed the permission form, and when, and how did it all happen?" she asked, a slight frown crossing her face. Ron nodded, as though to say that this was what he'd mean to ask all along, and watched Harry with eyes nearly as round as the saucers on the table.  
  
"Was it Morrigan?" Ginny asked, and they all turned to her. Neville and Ron looked startled. Hermione looked thoughtful.  
  
Harry, who'd enjoyed his joke but hadn't been looking forward to dropping that bombshell for reasons of his own, nodded. Ginny nodded back, apparently satisfied, and went on eating.  
  
"It might be a trap," Ron said suspiciously. "She might be trying to lure you out into the open so that you're a target."  
  
"It might be," Harry acknowledged, "but I don't think so." He noticed that Ginny looked up at this, and Hermione's eyebrows went up in mild surprise. "I don't think she would have gone through McGonagall, if it was a trap. She would have had Mal or somebody else write it, don't you think?"  
  
Ron considered that. "It would be awfully obvious of her to do it herself," he admitted. "And honestly, she's smarter than that, wouldn't you think?"  
  
Harry nodded. "I think I'll ask Alhena, just to get another opinion, if we all think it's probably not a trap?" he asked, looking around at the others. They all nodded. "Then I'll ask her. But I think she'll say the same thing." He ate some more steak and kidney pie, enjoying it more than he had recently, and thought a bit. "And really, it doesn't seem like something she'd do. I mean, if she was going to come for me, she'd do it herself. Out in the open, like," he added.  
  
By the expressions on the others' faces, they realised just as Harry did what a huge concession this was for him to make. Harry thought, looking at them, that they were somehow as comfortable with it, now that it had been made, as he himself was. They seemed to think, and Harry was starting to believe, that the idea of Morrigan as someone straightforward and basically honest, was simply right.  
  
*  
  
After dinner, Harry went looking for Alhena in the empty classroom she used for tutoring. The others wouldn't be in for Charms tutoring for a few minutes, and he hadn't wanted to wait any longer to ask her about the permission form. He found her sitting on the desk, cross-legged, her brown robes and brown shirt and brown trousers blending into the old wood of the desk. She grinned when she saw him, and he grinned back, though after the homework he'd rushed to catch up on and his hurried dinner, his mind was more on Morrigan's note, which he hadn't read yet, than it ever had been.  
  
"Alhena, can I ask you something?" he asked.  
  
"Of course you can," she told him, her face going serious, as it always did when serious matters were at hand. "What's on your mind?" she asked.  
  
"I found out something strange today, and I'm not sure what to think. Why would Morrigan sign a permission form for me to go to Hogsmeade?" he asked her. "I mean, I haven't heard from her in a month. Malcolm either. How would she even know about when the first Hogsmeade weekend was, and why would she care if I go or not? Do you think she's trying to lure me out into the open or something?" he asked.  
  
Alhena laughed. "I wouldn't want to tell you what to think," she said softly, "but I don't think so. The wards around this castle wouldn't stop Morrigan Carrick from finding a way inside the grounds if she so chose. Elven magic is a powerful thing, and she got a powerful dose of it from her mother. Professor Dumbledore knows it, and he doesn't seem worried, so I wouldn't worry too much about that," she said, apparently thinking he might be worried about Morrigan attacking him between classes or something.  
  
"It's not that, exactly. I don't think she'd try to attack me in Herbology or anything," Harry said with a grin, realising as he said it that he was speaking the absolute truth. Whatever threat was around, it didn't come directly from Morrigan. "But she's dropped out of sight, hasn't she, and it seems a bit strange that she would just write a note for Hogsmeade out of the blue, doesn't it? I mean, could it be a trap?"  
  
Alhena looked at him, pleased. "That's good thinking, Harry. From what I know of Morrigan, it's not likely. But it's good that you're considering all the angles. Have you also thought that perhaps it's a bit of an olive branch? Not a bribe, but a way of trying to apologise for what happened this summer?"  
  
Harry considered that. "I suppose it could be." Then, before he knew what was coming out of his mouth, he said, "She wrote me a note."  
  
"Did she?" Alhena asked thoughtfully. "And she didn't explain what she meant by the permission form?" she asked.  
  
"I haven't read it yet. I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to," he admitted, and reached into the pocket of his robes to get the note. He took a moment to examine the silvery wax imprinted with a sickle moon and stars before ripping it open. When the seal broke, releasing silvery sparkles, he grinned. Then he unfolded the letter, and scanned the note quickly.  
  
Harry,  
I hope the permission form reached Professor McGonagall  
in time for you to go to Hogsmeade. Mal and I had discussed  
the permission form with Professor Dumbledore this past summer  
and we were planning on handing it in for you as a surprise. I  
  
suppose it turned into a surprise anyway, but not quite the same way.  
I know that we didn't part well, and I'm more sorry about that than  
you can know. You were right, you know. I should have told you  
everything, not just the good bits. And I'm sorry for that as well.  
If Professor McGonagall agrees, you'll be in Hogsmeade some  
weekend soon. Don't let your guard down, Harry. What I told her is  
true-we shouldn't live in fear. Still, that doesn't mean we should  
run around like idiots, inviting disaster. There's more in you than you  
know, Harry. Keep your eyes open and protect it-you'll need it  
  
someday soon.  
Morrigan.  
  
He looked at Alhena, uncertain. "She's as bad as the Sorting Hat," Harry said with a roll of his eyes. "All doom and gloom. Don't let your guard down, don't invite disaster, protect yourself." He snorted. "Sounds a bit like Sirius did last school year."  
  
Where had that thought come from? he wondered, feeling suddenly icy cold. He remembered how Sirius had changed, how Sirius had become solemn and prickly and reckless. He remembered what had happened to Sirius last May. And suddenly he was forcing himself not to tremble, afraid that history was repeating itself.  
  
As though from a distance, he heard Alhena asking him what was wrong. With a huge effort, Harry shook his head to clear it, and looked at her. The expression of concern on her face told him he still didn't look too steady on his feet.  
  
"It's what happened with Sirius," Harry managed, sitting down on the nearest thing to him. Luckily, it was a fairly sturdy desk. He slid back onto it because his legs still felt a bit weak. "He got all gloomy and serious and withdrawing, then he got reckless and went to the Ministry and now he's dead." His voice took on a flat tone, and for the first time since August he felt grief threatening to overwhelm him. "It's happening again."  
  
Alhena shook her head. "No, it's not." She slid onto the desk beside his own, and looked at him. Her brown eyes were intent on his. "It's not at all the same thing, Harry. What does the note say, exactly?"  
  
He handed it over mutely, and she read it carefully. "It doesn't sound too very gloomy to me," she said after a moment. "It sounds practical. And, not to put too fine a point on it, it sounds apologetic. I think you're reading more into it than there is, Harry. Though I can't say, given what you've had to deal with over the past year, that I much blame you for it.  
  
"She says that she's sorry, she says that she feels you shouldn't let the circumstances destroy what normality you have in life. And she says that despite the fact that you should go on living your life, you should be careful. What's so gloomy about that? It sounds realistic to me. Maybe you're just not used to being treated like an adult," Alhena mused. "Perhaps you've gotten too used to having adults try and protect you from the world, and it's a bit of a shock to have someone telling you to go ahead and be as normal as you can, but to be careful."  
  
Harry thought about that. "It's frightening, though, the way she wrote it," he said, indicating the 'watch your back' part of the note. "I mean, it sounds gloomy, to me. Like she knows something's going to happen."  
  
"She does," Alhena said with a shrug. "We all do, Harry. You know something's going to happen. Ron and Hermione know it. I know it, Professor Dumbledore knows it. The difference here is that Morrigan doesn't think you need to hide behind the walls of Hogwarts because something bad is out there. She seems to think that there's more to you than a lot of people think, whether you're of age or not. And Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall seem to agree. As do I, if that matters at all." She grinned at Harry's look of surprise. "You see, Harry, if they didn't think it, you never would have found out about having a permission form for Hogsmeade. If they thought you couldn't handle yourself fairly well, you'd be sitting in the library or your common room this Saturday, wouldn't you? You weren't the only one who learned a tough lesson at the end of last term, Harry," she added. Harry nodded slowly, realising for the first time that it was true.  
  
The door to the classroom opened, and Ron, Hermione, and Neville spilled in as though trying desperately to fit through the door side-by- side. Harry grinned at them. Alhena laughed, reminding Harry for a moment of someone. He shrugged off the thought and dug in his bag for his books and the Charms essay he, Ron, and Neville had spent the second half of the afternoon working on. Alhena had promised to correct it if they'd had it done in time for the tutoring session. They'd decided to take her up on that offer after a record-breakingly awful Charms class that morning. Attempting a Hover Charm, Ron had sent his cushion spinning out the window, and Neville's cushion, after taking a few weak hops across the floor, had begun changing colours in a dispirited fashion, as if ashamed of itself. Harry, busy worrying about the Hogsmeade permission form, had absentmindedly sent sparks at his cushion that had set it to smoldering like a half-extinguished campfire.  
  
"Alhena, could you take a look at this?" Ron asked, holding out his essay. "Honestly, I put in as much as I could find about Household Spells, and it's still six inches short, isn't it?"  
  
She looked at it. "Hmmm. You didn't exactly write small either, did you?" she asked, looking at Ron with her eyebrows raised. He turned pink. She grinned and held her hand out for Harry's and Neville's essays, neither of which was any closer to the required two feet long than Ron's had been. Sitting down cross-legged on top of the teacher's desk, she arranged them around her and directed her quill to cross out a word here, suggest a change there. When she'd skimmed through them, she looked up at them.  
  
"Not bad," she told them. "They're a bit short. You might want to check out the part of the chapter on Cleaning Spells. It'll get you a bit closer to the mark, lengthwise." She had a subtly disappointed look on her face that made Ron resolve to write a bit smaller on his next attempt, and Harry and Neville decide that perhaps Household Spells weren't so bad after all. The three of them took out The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6, and got to work while Hermione and Alhena began comparing the appropriate wand movements for spells like Evanesco and Scourgify, and others which even Harry, Ron, and Neville's afternoon of Charms homework hadn't made them familiar with.  
  
After fifteen minutes or so, Ginny and Luna walked in the door. Harry noticed absently that Luna's dirty blond hair had been brushed until it gleamed, and that she was, for once, free of all radish-shaped or bottle- cap-like ornaments. He caught Ron staring at her as though she had sprouted wings, and elbowed his friend sharply. He couldn't stand for Ron to turn all red again. At this rate, he'd never turn back to his usual somewhat pale self.  
  
Ron started, his face turning pink, picked up the quill he'd dropped, and bent over his Charms essay. No one would have noticed anything strange at all had he not bent over too far and poked himself in the eye with his quill. Still, Harry would have been the only person who had seen it happen had Ron not reacted by jerking his arm to the side, sending a cascade of black ink all over the latest version of his Charms essay, half his desk, and most of his bag.  
  
Alhena looked up. Harry distinctly saw her bite her lip hard against laughter before she spoke. Around her, Ginny, Luna, and Hermione all stared at Ron as though he was demented. Neville's expression was closer to disbelief, but he fought it back, ending in simply looking confused.  
  
"Right, Ron, good idea. Best way to learn about Household Charms is practical experience," Alhena said briskly. The girls looked at her as though she had completely lost her mind. She ignored them, looking at Ron until he looked back up at her. "Well," she said, an eyebrow going up, "if you were planning on practicing Evanesco, you'll be needing your wand, won't you?"  
  
Ron fumbled for his wand, his hand covered in black ink, and retrieved it from his bag, which was so completely covered in ink that no amount of black, inky fingerprints could damage it any longer. He pointed it at the ink on his essay, said, "Evanesco!" with more hope than confidence, and grinned proudly when the spilled ink disappeared. Then his smile dimmed, when he realised that the parchment was blank. He'd made all the ink disappear, even the words he'd written before spilling anything.  
  
"Don't know your own strength, do you?" Alhena asked, amused, making no attempt to help him.  
  
"Restoring Spell?" Ron asked Harry and Neville.  
  
"Oh, yeah, that might work," Neville said, nodding.  
  
"Wait, though," Harry said as Ron picked up his wand again. "Isn't there something about it restoring everything you made disappear? So you'd need to do Restoro, then you'd need to do Scourgify. It was a test," Harry concluded. "Evanesco makes things disappear entirely. Scourgify cleans them up."  
  
Ron gave Alhena a disgruntled look, which made her shrug. "You did just write an essay on the difference between them, didn't you?" she pointed out.  
  
Ron sighed, nodded, and pointed his wand at the parchment. "Restoro," he said, sounding more grumpy than anything else. The spilled ink, and the half-written essay, reappeared on the parchment. "Scourgify," he said, more firmly than Harry could ever remember hearing Ron sounding when he was performing a spell. The spilled ink disappeared, leaving the half-written essay intact. Ron and Harry exchanged grins.  
  
"Cool," Harry said, nodding. Neville laughed, impressed. Ron went around Scourgifying his books, his bags, his robes, and then he graciously let Harry and Neville take turns with his shoes and his wand.  
  
"Nice work," Alhena told the three of them, nodding in a pleased manner that made all three of them blush. Harry thought Ron's penchant for turning red lately might be contagious. He wasn't sure he was glad of that.  
  
"Thanks. At least if the magic thing doesn't work out, I can always hire out to clean houses or something," Ron said with a sheepish shrug that did little to hide his pride in having accomplished the spells on the first try. Alhena grinned. Hermione laughed. Luna nearly fell over, bent double with laughter.  
  
"You're funny," she told Ron. "Cleaning houses," she said in a sing-song way that made the others grin and Ron's ears turn pink.  
  
Still smiling, Alhena and the girls returned to discussing Cleaning charms, Hermione practicing her wand movements with intense concentration. Ginny performed the charms with an almost careless wave of her wand, seeming almost bored by their simplicity. Harry noticed that the ease with which Ginny accomplished the Cleaning charms seemed to irritate Hermione ever so slightly. It wasn't that one was better than the other after Hermione had perfected her wand work. It was simply that Ginny didn't appear to need the same kind of precision Hermione did in order to make the charms work.  
  
"She's always been a whiz at Charms," Ron told Harry, too softly for Hermione to hear him, as they rewrote their Charms essays. "Mum says she doesn't know where Ginny got it from. None of the rest of us have been that good at them-even Fred and George had to work like mad at them. Of course," Ron said glumly, looking at his essay, "look at them now."  
  
Harry nodded, sighing. He liked Charms, but if it took Hermione a good amount of work to be good at them, it took him a great amount of practice. The mere thought of the work it would take to arrive at the twins' level of expertise in Charms exhausted Harry.  
  
"I don't want to be as good as any of them," Neville said decisively, his voice too low to be overheard by anyone but Harry or Ron. They looked at him questioningly. Neville's plump face broke into what could only be described as a mischievous grin. "I want to be better."  
  
After a moment of silent surprise, Harry and Ron grinned at Neville. Neville grinned back. Their eyes met in agreement. They returned their attention to their essays, and spent the rest of the session writing furiously.  
  
*  
  
Late in the morning on Thursday Harry sat at his desk, bent over his parchment, and began to write. He'd already spent fifteen minutes trying to answer Morrigan's owl, with little success. He wanted to say too many things that didn't seem to make much sense--every time he had a thought, three other contradictory thoughts popped into his head. He'd given up the attempt as useless, at least until he'd had a chance to think some more, and had turned to Quidditch.  
  
He was still working on getting Katie to agree to be captain of the team. She was the most senior member, and everyone liked her. She was resisting his efforts, almost violently. She'd told him only that morning, over breakfast, that after having seen what captaining the team had done to Oliver and Angelina, she wanted no part of being captain. Harry couldn't blame her. It was the main reason he was trying so hard to avoid getting the position himself.  
  
Harry thought that if he could outline some strategies for her, perhaps Katie wouldn't be quite so unwilling to captain the team. So he was spending what was left of his Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson writing up plans for the team. He and Ron had spent part of the previous evening thinking up the plans. Now that Neville's inspiration from the Charms tutoring session had had time to take hold, Harry, Ron and Neville were working on homework every spare moment they had, much as Hermione had used to. They had found that they had more free time than they had in over a year, and had spent a great deal of it discussing Quidditch.  
  
The extra free time at night came in handy, despite the fact that Harry now had over three hours a week of pointless Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons in which to do other things. Professor Carey, though he had remained his usual cheerful and eager-to-please self, had to be one of the most boring teachers Harry had ever had. How anyone could make a discussion of the Unforgivable Curses boring was a mystery to Harry, but Carey had managed it admirably.  
  
Though he knew that they had studied the Unforgivable Curses two years ago, Professor Carey had droned on and on about them for the past three lessons. He seemed to know an awful lot about them, Harry thought, but as no one had bothered to pay attention since the first few minutes of their first lesson, Carey would probably remain the only one who knew about the Curses. Remembering how Ron had speculated about whether Carey would spend their lesson listing every occurrence of every Unforgivable Curse ever used, Harry bent further over his parchment to hide a grin. Professor Carey was, after all, very nice. He didn't want to hurt the man's feelings by laughing out loud in the middle of his lecture.  
  
Harry finished the note and passed it to Ron after surreptitiously using his wand to enchant the parchment into looking like notes from class. Ron, who had been staring up at the blackboard with a dazed look on his face, bent his head and began to study Harry's plans after he'd removed the charm on the parchment. It was, Harry thought, the most alive Ron had looked all lesson.  
  
Harry took a casual look around the classroom as he took out another roll of parchment. It was a bit like being in Professor Binns' History of Magic class, he thought; there wasn't a single student paying attention to the professor, and a general bored daze seemed to have swept over the classroom. Seamus Finnegan was sound asleep with his head on his desk and a quill in his hand, and he was only one of a dozen or so students who were dozing. Many of the others were very near sleep, their chins propped on their hands, their eyes glazed over.  
  
Ron was making additions to the Quidditch plans. Neville was staring fixedly at something out the window, though Harry couldn't see anything there to look at. Dean Thomas was busy drawing--from where he sat, Harry thought the sketch was of Professor Carey. Parvati and Lavender were quietly comparing Divination dream charts across the aisle between their desks, and Hermione--Harry did a double take, unable to believe that Hermione Granger was not paying attention to the professor. Hermione was bent over a roll of parchment, her Ancient Runes book open on her lap, writing an essay. She seemed to realise she was being watched, and her head came up cautiously. Meeting Harry's eyes, she shrugged, grinned, and went back to her essay.  
  
Grinning, leaning over his desk, Harry unrolled his parchment and tried to think of what to write to Morrigan. If he hadn't forgotten his Charms textbook up in his dormitory, he would have put the letter off. Since he had nothing to distract him from writing the letter at the moment, it was preying on his mind. As he stared at the blank parchment before him, holding his quill in his hand, he couldn't think of anything but the letter.  
  
The last ten minutes hadn't given him any good ideas of what to write her, and he was still uncertain about her. Still, he thought with a sigh, she had remembered about Hogsmeade, and she had apologised. Not, he assured himself, that a simple apology could make up for what she'd done. Far from it. He wasn't certain that anything could make up for the way she'd lied to him. Still, it didn't seem right for him to completely ignore her gesture. Alhena had said it might have been meant as an olive branch. He wasn't willing to make peace yet-at least, not entirely-but he thought he might feel better about things if he at least took time to thank Morrigan.  
  
With a sigh that was more silent than not, in deference to Professor Carey's ongoing lecture on the horrors of the Imperius Curse, Harry put his quill to parchment and began to write.  
  
Morrigan,  
  
I got your owl. Thanks for the permission form, it'll  
be nice to go to Hogsmeade. You were right, it was  
a big surprise to find out that Professor McGonagall  
had a permission form for me. Harry paused, not sure what to say next. His letter sounded, as he read over what he'd written, like he was a little kid writing her an obligatory thank-you note for a particularly ugly Christmas jumper. He thought for a long moment as Carey droned on about how Death Eaters had once used the Imperius Curse as a weapon, and began to write again.  
  
It's not that I'm not grateful. Really, I am. But  
I don't know what else to say. I'm glad you  
apologised and all, but I'm not sure I can just let  
it go at that. Too many people have lied to me  
or hidden things from me already. So I have to  
be careful who I trust from now on.  
  
Ron and Ginny found out you'd lost your job with  
the Aurors. I'm sorry about that. It must have been  
a cool job and all.  
  
He paused again, stumped. What else did you say when someone had lost their job? He didn't know anyone his age who even had a job, let alone had been sacked from it. He wondered, if he'd been sacked from his job what would he want to hear?  
  
.but I'm sure you can find a better one. I mean,  
working at the Ministry can turn you into a prat.  
Just look at Ron's brother Percy.  
  
We're working on getting the Quidditch team  
together again, now my ban's been lifted. Trials  
are tomorrow, so hopefully we'll find a few Beaters  
and another Chaser and some Reserves. We could  
really use a break there. The last Beaters we had were  
just awful, even though they tried really hard.  
  
I hope things are going all right for you and Malcolm,  
and that everyone is safe. Maybe when I get another  
chance I can write you again.  
  
Harry.  
  
Harry rolled up the parchment and, when the distant buzz of Professor Carey's voice was replaced by the sounds of his classmates gathering their things to escape the classroom, he followed them out the door. Telling the others he'd meet them in the Great Hall for lunch, Harry ran up to the Owlery and sent his note with one of the school owls.  
  
That done, he ran back down to the Great Hall and hurried through lunch. He, Ron, and Neville had a lot of studying to do before he and Neville were due in Transfiguration.  
  
*  
  
Whiting stood before her, sneering, as she did her best to keep her mind closed to him. It wasn't easy. Harry's note, such a painful blend of confusion and mistrust, had shaken her. She didn't know why that was; she'd expected no less. She deserved no better. But it had jolted her. After a month of feeling the pull of her magic strengthen daily, the last thing she'd needed was to be reminded of how she'd already botched things up with Harry. How she'd botched things up with Keith and his parents.  
  
How she might be too weak to avoid botching things up again, and how there was so much more at stake this time around. There was so much more to lose now.  
  
Harry.  
  
Before she could lock the thought away, it rested in the centre of her mind, and she knew that MacInnes had felt it. She knew that he'd seen the picture she'd come to associate with that word-a tall, too-thin boy with untidy black hair, round glasses, and a lightning-bolt scar on his forehead.  
  
"You know famous little Harry Potter, then, do you?" he asked silkily, moving closer, his eyes boring into hers. "And here I'd thought you just had a very good source of information at the school." His black raven's eyes were greedy and cruel, searching ruthlessly through her mind for more information.  
  
She didn't answer him. There would have been no point; he'd already seen too far into her head. She was going to have to give him something, now that Whiting knew that she was closer to Harry than she had originally led him to believe.  
  
She was so busy rebuilding the walls in her mind that she never heard MacInnes walk up behind her, never saw him raise his wand and point it at her. The first hint she had that things had gone badly wrong was when she heard her former boss cry, "Crucio!" in a voice filled with anticipation and enjoyment.  
  
When they were done with her, she was sobbing on the floor.  
  
Their smiles were cruel and devoid of humanity as she told them what they wanted to know. 


	9. Let the Games Begin

Chapter 09: Let The Games Begin  
  
Still a bit stunned, Harry walked out the castle doors and toward the Quidditch pitch, Ron on one side of him and Ginny on the other. Harry knew they were beaming at him, just as they had been since Professor McGonagall had cornered him in the Entrance Hall after lunch. Part of him wished they'd stop grinning. Harry's plan to ease Katie into accepting the position of Captain of Quidditch had backfired catastrophically. Katie had been sitting in the Common Room, poring over the notes he had written during Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Professor McGonagall, walking through the Common Room in search of a student with a detention coming, had caught sight of the parchment and stopped in her tracks. She had apparently recognised the messy handwriting as Harry's. It was the only explanation Harry could think of for her tracking him down in the Entrance Hall and informing him of her decision.  
  
"I can't believe this," Harry said, an unsettling combination of dread, anticipation, and anxiety making his stomach clench. "She had to go and be nosy, didn't she?"  
  
Ginny laughed. "Well, Harry, you have to admit that it was coming down to the wire for choosing a captain, wasn't it? And Katie really, really didn't want to have anything to do with it." She thought for a moment, frowning. "Though she did destroy my plan altogether, which was to have you and Ron co-captain the team."  
  
Harry felt some of his anxiety fade as Ron's ears turned red while he tried desperately not to look too pleased. "Don't think I didn't suggest it to McGonagall," Harry said. "I mean, after all, who's the best strategist we know?"  
  
Ron, if possible, turned even more red. Ginny and Harry shared a grin behind Ron's back.  
  
"She didn't go for it, then?" Ginny asked lightly.  
  
"Only because she won't allow co-captains. It's all or nothing," Harry explained gloomily. "Don't know how it's going to be, though. She might have given us a little time to work out a plan before coming up with a surprise like this. I mean, it's trials today."  
  
Ron shrugged, though he still looked pleased about having been considered for captain at all. "Well, we'll figure out something. We're a team, aren't we?" he asked. Ginny nodded.  
  
Harry grinned. The day suddenly seemed brighter. Moments before, he'd believed the whole season would turn out to be a disaster. Now, walking out into the grounds with his Firebolt over his shoulder and two of his best friends on either side of him, he thought they just might have a shot at the Quidditch Cup for a second year running.  
  
Of course, he thought later, they'd only have a shot at the Cup again if they could manage to find at least two Beaters and a Chaser. After an hour of trials, the Gryffindor team was no closer to complete than it had been two weeks ago, on the Hogwarts Express. As Harry considered his options, leaning on his Firebolt and watching the hopefuls flying around with varying degrees of skill, he saw six Gryffindor second- and third-years heading toward the pitch. He caught Ron's attention and nodded toward the younger students. Ron turned his head to look, and grinned.  
  
"Oh, look," Ron said, quietly enough so that only Harry could hear him, "it's part of the Harry Potter fan club."  
  
Harry looked closer, and realised that Ron was right. Dennis Creevey, followed by several of his friends, was near the front of the group. Two of them Harry recognised as third-years who had asked him about joining the DA Club. Those two, at least, were already tall and looked strong. It was, Harry supposed, too much to hope that they could fly well and swing a Beater's bat without knocking themselves unconscious. Still, his eyes met Ron's, and he knew Ron was hoping the very same thing.  
  
"Hullo, Harry," Dennis Creevey said, beaming up at Harry. "I might have found you some Beaters, unless you've already found some," he continued cheerfully, as though good Beaters were popping out from under every tree and rock. Harry felt every eye swivel to rest upon him.  
  
"Well, everyone who wants one gets a chance to give it a try, don't they?" Harry managed, and heard more than one sigh of relief. As people turned their gazes back to whatever they'd been looking at before Dennis had asked his question, Harry felt like sighing with relief, too.  
  
Dennis and his friends glanced at each other, and broke out into huge smiles.  
  
"I'm Will Martin," said the tall, blond-haired boy, who Harry had already met in the Common Room last week. Harry grinned at him.  
  
"And I'm Zach Martin," the tall, dark-haired boy said. "We're brothers, not that you'd know it to look at us. We tried for the team last year, but we were too small and we didn't fly well enough," he said candidly. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ron give a tiny nod of agreement.  
  
"Well, we got bigger over the past year, didn't we?" Will asked matter-of- factly, "And we practised all summer long. Got a lot better than we had been, anyway," he added, and shrugged.  
  
"Right," Zach agreed. "And we're sorry we're late, Harry. We had to stay after Transfiguration, something to do with a little, er, accident in the Great Hall during lunch."  
  
Harry grinned. "Not a problem. We're not in a rush or anything," he added. He and Ron watched as the Martins headed off up the pitch and joined the five or six hopefuls flying around with Katie and Ginny. Harry winced as he saw Ginny swerve to one side to avoid a collision as two of the younger students nearly flew into each other.  
  
It was immediately clear that Zach and Will Martin could fly rings around the other hopefuls. Harry didn't know whether they could hit Bludgers worth anything, but from their flying skills alone he thought that they were likely the new Gryffindor Beaters. Ron, who had been looking rather worried as each new hopeful took his or her turn around the pitch, stared at the Martins as though they might have convinced him to hope for better than last place in the Cup standings.  
  
Harry watched the Martins for a few more moments, then turned back to Dennis who, he suddenly noticed, was carrying his own broom. "Trying for a spot, are you, Dennis?" he asked, trying not to grin when he realised that the broom was taller than Dennis was.  
  
"Oh! I'd love to be a Chaser, wouldn't I?" Dennis asked excitedly. "I know I'm not good enough, not really--at least, not yet," he added with a determined expression that looked oddly out of place on his elfin face, "but you're looking for Reserves, aren't you, Harry? Aren't you?"  
  
Harry nodded, and sent Dennis on his way to the other side of the pitch with the others. Dennis beamed excitedly the entire way. He waved back at his remaining friends, mounted his broom, and kicked off from the ground. After watching Dennis fly for a few moments, Harry thought that Dennis had been right. Though he was a very good flyer, certainly as good as the Martin brothers, he was a bit too small and not quite confident enough to handle the Quaffle as well as some of the others.  
  
"Harry, we wanted to try for Reserves, too, if you think you'll be wanting more of them," said Caitlin Moore, looking half-scared-to-death and half- excited. Harry nodded at her, including her two second-year friends in the invitation, and they all headed off down the pitch.  
  
"Tell you what," Ron said quietly as he and Harry mounted their brooms to join Ginny and Katie in the air at the near end of the pitch. "If those Martin boys can hit Bludgers like they can fly, we might just have a shot at this," he finished.  
  
"Spot on," Harry replied, just as quietly. "At this rate, we'll fill all of our positions and have Reserves for all of them."  
  
"Wouldn't that be terrific," Ron said, an I-must-be-dreaming sort of look on his face. "Right. Watch out then," he added, almost casually, and Harry stepped back. Ron reached out and caught what might have been the most badly-thrown pass in history with the easy skill he'd sweated and suffered to acquire over the summer.  
  
"Sorry, Ron!" called Dennis Creevey cheerfully. Looking at each other, Ron and Harry grinned.  
  
It the trials had gone perfectly, they both would have been very frightened.  
  
*  
  
At the end of the second hour of trials, pleasantly tired and mud- spattered, Harry had thanked everyone for coming out, and had told the hopefuls that he'd be posting the team roster later that night, after the team had had a chance to confer. Chattering cheerfully, the hopefuls-- mostly second- and third-years--walked with Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Katie back toward the castle. It was too close to dinner to try for the baths, so they all trooped into the Great Hall together and found seats at the Gryffindor table.  
  
It was a noisy dinner, the Great Hall ringing with laughter and excited conversations. The first Hogsmeade visit was the next day, over a whole month early, and none of the third-year-and-above students seemed to be able to speak of anything else. Rumours about the Weasley twins' new joke shop abounded. According to who told the story, Fred and George had either bought out Zonko's, driven the former owners out with a massive display of enchanted fireworks, or thrown the former owners into a Portable Swamp before Vanishing the Swamp to Antarctica. It was, Ron pointed out, quite a tribute to Fred's and George's accomplishments that all three versions of the story were held equally likely.  
  
The last crumbs of their puddings had just disappeared away from the plates, and Ginny and Hermione were deep in conversation about which shop to visit first, when Professor Dumbledore stood. His face was uncharacteristically grave. The Great Hall quieted in moments, all eyes turning to the front of the Hall.  
  
"I have," Dumbledore said calmly, "an announcement concerning the first Hogsmeade visit of term."  
  
All over the Hall, the older students were staring at each other in consternation. Had the visit been canceled? Had there been another attack?  
  
"As you all may know, Lord Voldemort has returned." Around the Great Hall, Harry saw many people wincing at Dumbledore's use of the name. There have been several attacks on Witches and Wizards over the summer, a few of them shortly before term. I have, of course, been in contact with the Ministry, and with the Minister for Magic. Between us, we have determined that while certain precautions have to be taken to ensure your safety, there is no need to cancel Hogsmeade visits at the present time."  
  
"Oh yeah, right," Ron whispered to Harry, rolling his eyes. "I'll just bet Fudge had anything to do with that decision." Harry had to bite his lip against laughter.  
  
"The Ministry has arranged to have Witches and Wizards patrolling Hogsmeade tomorrow while you are there," Dumbledore continued. "I have arranged to have your teachers looking out for you as well. And while I know it will be a disappointment to some of you, the visit to Hogsmeade will end precisely at noon. In order to keep you safe, the Minister and I came to the decision that it would be better to have you visit Hogsmeade twice in the autumn, for shorter periods of time, than to have you roaming about the village all day long."  
  
The rumble of conversation rose as Dumbledore paused, but no one seemed particularly bothered by the change. As far as the students were concerned, two Hogsmeade visits were better than one. Dumbledore, who seemed to recognise this, let the noise die down naturally before continuing.  
  
"Notices have been posted in your Common Rooms detailing the procedures and the times for the trip to Hogsmeade tomorrow. If you have any questions, please ask your Head of House. And I cannot stress the importance of these policies enough. Any student who does not follow them, to the letter, will be punished, and banned from all future Hogsmeade visits this year. That is all," Dumbledore said, smiling, but no one in the Hall doubted his sincerity. The students filed out of the Great Hall, conversations buzzing like bees all around them.  
  
In the Gryffindor Common Room, most of the third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh year students were standing in front of the notice board. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville worked their way to the front of the group and read the notice along with the other students.  
  
HOGSMEADE WEEKEND TRIP, 13 SEPTEMBER  
  
All students whose permission forms for Hogsmeade are turned in to their Head of House before leaving the castle will be allowed to visit the village of Hogsmeade this Saturday, 14 September.  
  
Students with permission to visit the village may leave the castle after breakfast on Saturday and must sign out with Mr. Filch upon leaving. Students are required to return by noon. On returning, all students must sign in again with Mr. Filch.  
  
Ministry Wizards and Hogwarts Staff will be patrolling in Hogsmeade to ensure the safety of all students visiting the village. Further to protecting all students, the following areas are strictly out of bounds:  
  
1. The Shrieking Shack  
2. Any area outside the main village,  
including the hills outside of town  
  
Also, in order that students may be adequately protected, no student is allowed to enter any non-public building in the village for any reason whatsoever.  
  
Any questions should be directed to your Head of House, as students disobeying these rules will be severely punished.  
  
Cornelius Fudge Professor Albus Dumbledore Minister for Magic Headmaster Order of Merlin, 1st Class Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and  
Wizardry  
  
"Not kidding around, are they?" Ron asked, raising his eyebrows as he, Ginny and Neville followed Harry and Hermione away from the muttering crowd.  
  
"They can't afford to," Hermione said wisely. "They can't afford to have anything happen to a student, now can they? I'll bet it took a lot of work for Dumbledore to get us permission for Hogsmeade anyway, once the Ministry got involved."  
  
Remembering the chaos the Ministry had created the last time it had interfered at Hogwarts, the others nodded.  
  
"Right, so I suppose we should get down to working out the team," Harry said, and Ron and Ginny nodded enthusiastically. They were becoming uneasy because of the hopeful looks constantly being directed their way by the students who had tried out for the Quidditch team. Harry caught Katie's eye, and Katie gestured them over to the table where she'd spread her books and things. None of them thought it was a coincidence that the table was at the extreme opposite end of the Common Room from where the hopefuls had congregated before the fire.  
  
Sighing and dragging out a roll of parchment, Harry made a list of the hopefuls' names, Ron cast a Silencing Charm over them all, and the four of them got down to business.  
  
*  
  
One by one, shadowy figures appeared on the darkened street. Their hooded cloaks lit only by the barest sliver of moonlight, they seemed more mist than substance as they smoothly made their way along the road and into the tiny side garden of a tall, narrow house set far off the street. Giving a password to the magically hidden doorway at the back of the garden, they slipped inside the house one by one. As each passed the door, a rectangle of light appeared briefly in the tree-shadowed darkness, then disappeared. The weak, wavering light appeared and disappeared nine times, then night returned to the side garden.  
  
Inside the narrow house, nine figures slid the hoods of their cloaks back and glanced around. Nicholas and Gwynne, Bill, Charlie, Fred and George, Malcolm, Alhena, and Remus Lupin all smiled at each other, then Nicholas led the way into Tristan's parlour.  
  
Tristan's parlour, Bill decided, was very nearly as creepy as the one at Number 12 Grimmauld Place had been when he and his family had first arrived there. The room was dark and gloomy, and built-in shelves fairly groaned under the weight of an odd collection of mysterious and vaguely threatening objects. None of them looked as though they were things that ought to be touched without dragon hide gloves.  
  
Tristan looked up, his black eyes gleaming like obsidian in the dimly lit room. They stared back, all of them at a loss. All of them, that was, but Alhena. She gave Tristan an arch look and, when he did not respond, she rolled her eyes.  
  
"Really, Tris." Her voice was stern.  
  
Surprising the Weasleys and Remus, Tristan grinned at her. She merely raised an eyebrow. He laughed, waved his wand, and the room brightened considerably.  
  
"Tris has an odd sense of humor," Alhena explained with a shake of her head. "Comes from being around too many vampires, I suppose. And from watching too many Muggle horror movies when he was small. He thinks it's funny to play Dracula," she added, and Tristan snorted with laughter.  
  
"Plus, it keeps people in line. They think I'm dodgy."  
  
"You are dodgy," Nicholas pointed out. Tristan merely raised an eyebrow at his friend. Clearly, Tristan's inclination to humor had disappeared. They all found seats or, in the twins' cases, conjured their own. After all the planning of the last month, the time had come for action.  
  
"Hard to believe Dumbledore's just letting the lot of them into the village, what with the attacks and all." Uncharacteristically, George was the first to speak. It was, Bill thought, quite dramatic proof of how concerned his brother was that George had, in essence, begun a meeting. It was even more telling that George didn't seem to realise that he'd done it.  
  
"Oh, don't believe it for a minute, George," Remus Lupin replied with a reassuring smile. "Professor Dumbledore has taken extreme measures with regard to security for the Hogsmeade trip tomorrow."  
  
"Extreme how?" said Fred, frowning. Clearly, he and George were of the same mind on the issue of the students' safety. Specifically, on the issue of their younger brother and sister's safety.  
  
"Well, he's worked with Fudge, and arranged a patrol of Ministry Wizards." Malcolm, from his seat in the corner beside Alhena, paused in the middle of what appeared to be a rather intense whispered conversation in order to answer Fred. "And you'll be seeing quite a few Order members as well."  
  
Alhena nodded, and had to fight hard to keep her composure as the twins' chairs disappeared from beneath them. They landed on the floor in a jumble of arms, legs, robes, and red hair, looking a bit as though they'd expected this all along.  
  
Fred and George got up off the floor, grinning good-naturedly. "Still working on that, aren't we?" Fred muttered, and Bill had to turn his head to prevent himself laughing at them. Charlie took pity on them and conjured them up two more chairs, but his sympathy didn't extend to making the chairs particularly comfortable. Fred and George appeared to consider protesting this, but evidently decided that having uncomfortable chairs was better than having chairs that disappeared without the slightest provocation.  
  
"So. The Order will be there-in disguise or in the shadows, I'd guess," Gwynne said, and Bill nodded. "And we'll be there-or, rather, we'll be in the village, then at Fred and George's shop, and then we'll be patrolling again. And the Ministry will be there. So the big question is why we're all going to be there. I could understand it if there was just some increased security because of the attacks during the summer. But this is, as you said, extreme," she observed, and Bill nodded again.  
  
"We've got good information that there's a threat, tomorrow afternoon, in the village," Tristan said solemnly.  
  
"Morrigan?" Nicholas asked, his eyes sharp and serious.  
  
Tristan nodded. "I don't know how she found out, but I can guess," he said, his voice taking on an edge. Whatever else he was, he was Morrigan's friend, and he hated the thought of the risks she was taking, and what she was probably suffering, in order to help the Order. "I'd imagine MacInnes and Whiting have been after her ever since they cornered her at the Ministry on your last day," he told Malcolm, who nodded. "So she's playing along with them, to get information. And I doubt it's easy on her, in any sense."  
  
Malcolm nodded. "I saw her last week. She looked completely exhausted. The pull's getting stronger and stronger. There's no other possible explanation for the look in her eyes."  
  
"So I'd imagine that Whiting or MacInnes found out she knows Harry somehow. And she had to give them something to put them off the scent. So she probably told them that she'd met him through one of you-probably you, Remus," Tristan said after a moment's thought. "It's common knowledge that you two are friends, but not-so-common knowledge that she knows the Weasleys."  
  
Remus nodded. "I told her before start of term that if she ever needed a cover, she should take advantage of that fact," he said simply. "People have seen the two of us around-in Diagon Alley, in Hogsmeade. They know her stand on the Ministry's Werewolf laws and they know that we're both interested in Defence. They also know that I was good friends with Harry's father, and with.Sirius. And that I know Harry fairly well," he continued. "So it's not a huge leap to assume that at some time or another I introduced them."  
  
Tristan, nodding agreement, continued. "So if MacInnes or Whiting found out about the fact that she knows Harry, she probably had to come up with the Hogsmeade weekend information. If she hadn't, it would have been clear that she had a much closer connection to Harry, and that she was a lot more than she seemed.  
  
"But as soon as she told them, and as soon as they'd decided how to take advantage of the information, she must have told Dumbledore. It's the only way I can think of that the security could have been arranged so quickly."  
  
"Yeah, and knowing her, she probably made sure that she wasn't the only one they told about their plan, so that when it failed they couldn't come back to her." Fred said, looking slightly cheered by his own suggestion.  
  
"Actually, I doubt that would stop them," Nicholas said after a moment. "I mean, they might not be able to blame the whole thing on her, that's true, but will that stop them making her pay for it anyway?" he asked.  
  
Malcolm's eyes were haunted. "Of course not," he said. "She knew that the day she decided to use the pair of them to the Order's advantage. She said that we couldn't afford to wait until we wanted to be approached by the other side. So she took advantage of the opening they gave her." He sighed. "She can't turn back now."  
  
"Right. Well, if she can't, we're not going to, either," George said, and his brothers nodded. "I mean, none of us wanted to get involved in this. We didn't want any of it to happen. But, well, it did, and we got involved, and we're sticking," he added. From their expressions, Tristan, Gwynne, Nicholas, and Alhena felt the same way.  
  
Malcolm grinned wearily at all of them. "Well, at the very least, we shouldn't have much to worry about tomorrow. Just a simple little meeting, and make sure they get back to the castle on time. That's noon, by the way. Dumbledore won't go easy on any of them if they're late."  
  
Smiling now that they had a plan and something they could do something about, they all leaned forward and began talking about the meeting planned for the next day. When they had agreed on how it should be handled and who would be there, everyone began leaving the way they had come. The Weasleys and Alhena left at the same time, walking quietly through the garden and out to the street before separating.  
  
"Alhena. Do you have a moment?" Bill asked, once his brothers had Disapparated-Fred and George for home, and Charlie back to Wales. She looked up at him, her expression unreadable, and nodded. They walked down the lane together, and once they'd reached the corner, they turned toward the Three Broomsticks.  
  
They were almost at the door when Gwynne and Nicholas appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. "Hey, you two! What are you doing here?" Nicholas asked jovially, catching sight of two disreputable-looking Wizards also moving toward the entrance, eying them all suspiciously.  
  
Bill grinned; there was nothing for it but to play along. "It's a nice night, and I could use a Firewhiskey," he replied, and Nicholas laughed. The four of them entered the Three Broomsticks, and found a table near the window. Bill and Nicholas got Firewhiskey; Gwynne and Alhena opted for gillywater.  
  
The two Wizards they'd passed on the way into the pub, Bill noted, were still watching their table closely. Nicholas began a discussion about Quidditch that had the potential to turn into a serious debate. Nicholas' favorite team and Bill's were the next best thing to arch-rivals, and though Bill hadn't played when he was in school, he was as loyal a fan as Nicholas, who had played at school.  
  
Gwynne and Alhena interposed the occasional comment when the debate got too intense, but otherwise seemed content to talk quietly. Gwynne's face was serious and worried as she spoke to her friend. Alhena's was paler than usual and very, very weary. She looked ready to fall asleep at the table by the time Gwynne called a halt to the Quidditch debate and announced that she wanted to go home to sleep.  
  
Looking around the pub, Bill and Nicholas realised that many of the pub's patrons had left long since, and stood up suddenly, apologetic. Alhena simply grinned wearily, stood up with the others, and walked beside them toward the door. Bill doubted that it was coincidence that Nicholas and Gwynne disappeared almost as soon as they'd all said good-bye; he'd caught the silent apology in Nicholas' eyes as they'd all met in front of the pub.  
  
"So, are you staying with Tristan?" Bill asked. He didn't think that she should be going anywhere alone. In fact, Bill was fairly sure she'd fall asleep on her feet if given half a chance.  
  
She looked up at him, and shook her head with a sigh. "I'm staying at Morrigan's. She's not using the place, really, so it's not putting anyone out."  
  
Bill arched a brow. She shrugged, too tired to worry any longer. He sighed, slid an arm around her, and said, "Well, then, let's go."  
  
A moment later, they were standing inside Morrigan's flat. Alhena sat on the sofa without a word, closing her eyes and seeming to deflate. Bill sat down in the armchair opposite her, and considered how to begin. Over the past month, he'd convinced himself that he'd been imagining her resemblance to Morrigan. Sitting here now, he was sure of it.  
  
He wasn't sure how he'd thought that a single woman could handle all the tutoring, help organise things for the junior Order, arrange tonight's meeting, attend meetings of the Order of the Phoenix in London, and do whatever it was Morrigan was actually doing right now. He felt a bit foolish for having thought it.  
  
"You'll never believe this," he said, chuckling, "but for a while there I thought you and Mor." His words trailed off as he looked up and saw her sitting upright, her head tilted toward him as though listening, fast asleep.  
  
So much for a chance at conversation, he thought ruefully, covered her with a blanket he conjured after a moment's thought, and Disapparated.  
  
*  
  
"So who's on the team as of this very moment?" Fred asked, as Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, and Neville settled into squashy armchairs in the back room off the joke shop. It wasn't, technically, a nonpublic building, so they were keeping within the rules. They had no choice but to be careful about that, or there would be no junior Order. But Harry was grateful for the opportunity to avoid the more serious matters that were facing all of them. So he jumped on Fred's question like it had been a lifeline.  
  
"Well, Ron's at Keeper; Ginny, Katie, and Caitlyn Moore-she's a second-year-are at Chaser; we've got two new Beaters, Zach and Will Martin- "  
  
Fred snorted. "You're joking. Those spindly little midgets who tried to replace us last year?" he asked, clearly remembering the Martins.  
  
"You wouldn't recognise them, Fred, seriously," Ron told his brother, his eyes intent. "Honestly, they're tall now, and they flew circles around everyone else, and they're-well, they're not as good as you and George were, who could be, but they're loads better than the ones we had last year."  
  
Fred, who had not even bothered to pretend modesty at Ron's compliment, grinned toothily at Ron, Harry, and Ginny. They grinned back. Hogwarts just hadn't seemed as much like Hogwarts without Fred and George there. "So you've managed to find a Chaser and two Beaters. That's good. And Katie's captain?"  
  
Gloomily-but not as gloomily as on the previous day-Harry shook his head. "No. She let McGonagall see the work Ron and I did on the Quidditch plans one day during Defence Against the Dark Arts, and made such a big deal over how helpful we were being that McGonagall-"  
  
"So you and Harry are co-captains!" Fred exclaimed, clapping Ron on the shoulder.  
  
Ron grinned. He was relieved he wasn't captain, but he couldn't help being flattered that everyone had assumed he would be chosen, when Harry had been on the team for the better part of five years. "Absolutely not," he said cheerfully. Having seen what captaining the team had done to Angelina last year, he couldn't believe he'd ever truly wanted to be captain. "McGonagall doesn't believe in co-captains. Harry's got the job."  
  
Fred looked impressed, amused, and sympathetic all at once. Harry felt better immediately. "Ready to start going mad, are you?" Fred asked, sitting down in the armchair between Ron and Harry.  
  
"Oh, I've been there for ages," Harry said easily, and laughed. It was his first genuine laugh since McGonagall had delivered the news to him yesterday afternoon. "I don't think I will go mad, not really. It's already much more of a team effort, being captain is. Katie feels bad because she trapped me into it, and she's helping out loads. And Ron is so good at strategy that he helps out without even realising it, it just comes naturally for him. Ginny's great with the new guys-and girls-because she's closer to their age and, really, she's the nicest one out of all of us. Plus I think they're afraid she might slap them with a Bat-Bogey Hex if they mess up too badly." Harry grinned. Ginny laughed, her ears turning pink with pleasure.  
  
"So it's you at Seeker and Captain, Ron at Keeper, Ginny at Chaser with Katie and this Caitlin person, and those two Martin boys at Beater," Fred summarised. His tone indicated that the new members of the team had some large shoes to fill. Unfortunately, Harry thought, Fred wasn't wrong. "You've got Reserves now?" he went on, eyebrows raised.  
  
Harry nodded. "Don't want to leave Ginny in the lurch when we leave, do we?" he asked. "Really, we should have had them all along. We've got two fourth-years and a fifth-year at Reserve Chaser, and two second-years as Reserve Beaters. Ron's helping out Matt Carrollton at Reserve Keeper, and we've got Dennis Creevey in Reserve as a Seeker, if you can believe that," Harry said with a weak laugh.  
  
Fred's disbelief couldn't have been more evident had he tattooed it on his forehead. "Dennis Creevey," he repeated, and Harry, grinning, nodded. "Even if I saw it I don't know if I'd believe it."  
  
"He's got the right build for it, and he's a good flier. He's hopeless with a Quaffle. He could have hurt someone, the way he was just tossing it around in the middle of everything. He just needs to learn to focus, that's all. We'll work on him."  
  
Fred just grinned, shaking his head. It appeared that the Harry Potter fan club wasn't going away any time soon. Certainly not if one of its most loyal members was now Gryffindor's Reserve Seeker, a position that hadn't been filled since before Charlie had been Seeker.  
  
"Well, well, the gang's all here."  
  
They all turned on hearing Bill's amused voice, and broke out in grins. Bill, Tristan, Nick, and Gwynne had just walked into the room, having Apparated into the upstairs flat and walked down the stairs. It looked as though things were nearly ready to go. When Alhena arrived, looking unusually windswept and very tired, George close on her heels, they all looked at her as though they'd only been waiting for her to get things started.  
  
"Sorry I'm late," she said with a sigh. "It's been a crazy morning. Trials go well?" she asked Harry, Ron, and Ginny.  
  
Ginny nodded. "Better than we had any right to expect, anyway. We'll get everyone whipped into shape by our first match," she said, with what Harry considered extreme overconfidence. Still, it was a nice thought.  
  
They found, now that they were actually having the meeting, that there wasn't a great deal to discuss. Harry and Hermione brought up the idea of asking Katie to join the junior Order. Ron, Ginny, and Neville seconded the idea, with Fred and George's support. Alhena agreed that it was a good idea, and said she'd speak to Professor Dumbledore about it.  
  
"So what's all this about Dumbledore being all tight with Fudge and letting him make up rules about Hogsmeade weekends?" asked Neville. Harry and the others stared at him; Neville's tone had been sarcastic, and for Neville, that was as unusual as things got. Alhena merely smiled, and let Nicholas answer the question.  
  
"You're right, he's not tight with Fudge at all," Nicholas said with a short laugh. "He told Fudge how it was going to be, and Fudge is so afraid of being caught wrong-footed that he went along with it, that's all."  
  
The others looked startled that this information had been given so freely. Nicholas grinned at them, his brown eyes gleaming with amusement.  
  
"It's not something the Order was involved with," he explained. "It's just Professor Dumbledore making sure that Fudge has all of his ducks in a row. It's not that Fudge is stupid, not really. He's just easily misled, which makes it dangerous not to check up on him from time to time."  
  
"So, these attacks," Harry said, looking up to find Tristan's black eyes intent on him. "They stopped once term began, didn't they?" he asked.  
  
Tristan seemed to approve of the question, but made no attempt to answer it. Nicholas fielded that one as well. "They did. We're not sure whether that's a coincidence or not. And we're not--well, Tris and Gwynne and Alhena and I aren't--particularly well-informed about what the Order thinks on that score. We've been mostly centred here, haven't we, and we haven't been to the meetings at Headquarters since start of term. So while we can talk pretty freely about the attacks without worrying about the Fidelius, we also don't have much more than our opinions to go on."  
  
"Well, it's just that we heard about the attack the night after...the night before you four came to Headquarters," Harry said, and saw a flicker in Tristan's dark eyes. "And we...heard that Morrigan's old boss was involved." He didn't have to work as hard as usual to say her name. He thought he saw Tristan's eyes slide over to meet Alhena's, but it happened so quickly that Harry wasn't entirely certain he'd seen anything at all.  
  
Tristan nodded. "They both were."  
  
"Is that why she was sacked?" Harry asked. Ginny and Hermione leaned forward, interested.  
  
"No. She was sacked because her old bosses told Fudge that she and Mal were in tight with Dumbledore. Fudge was apparently in one of his paranoid moods. And, of course, having two of his top Aurors tell him that she and Mal were close to Dumbledore, in such a serious way, would have made him nervous in any case. So Fudge had them sacked." Tristan shrugged, and though his attitude was casual his contempt for Fudge was clear by his expression.  
  
"Is that why everyone was stupid and forced her out of Headquarters?" Ginny asked.  
  
Everyone in the room seemed to be waiting for Harry to protest--either to say that no one had been stupid to suspect Morrigan, or to put an end to the conversation altogether. He'd made a promise to himself as they were walking to Hogsmeade after breakfast, that he would not stand in the way of his friends discussing anything they needed to discuss. It was everyone's life at stake, after all, and he didn't feel he had the right to stop anyone talking about anything they considered important. Sensing the sudden tension in the room, Harry was glad he'd thought about this beforehand. It seemed that, had he wanted to stop them talking about the Carricks, everyone in the room would have gone along with him.  
  
He wasn't entirely comfortable with that kind of power over people. It was the DA, and the Quidditch team, on a much more serious scale. And he'd had enough problems with both of those".  
  
Apparently deciding that Harry wasn't going to object to the turn the conversation had taken, Tristan nodded at Ginny. "Not everyone wanted her out," he reminded them all. "But yes, that's why she ended up being tossed out."  
  
"She wasn't tossed out, she left on her own," Bill pointed out mildly.  
  
Everyone looked at him. Harry caught the twins exchanging a grin before he looked at Bill. Harry studied Ron's older brother along with everyone else. Dressed in jeans and what was obviously a Weasley jumper--handmade and navy blue with an emerald-green stripe across the front-- Bill looked more like a Muggle on a day off from work than a Wizard. Still, his boots were dragon hide, and Harry had no doubt that his wand was close at hand. "But she would have been tossed out," Ginny clarified.  
  
Bill considered that, and nodded. "At least, she would have been made to feel unwelcome," he said, a bit more diplomatically than he really felt. Of course, his own mother had been one of the people making a case for throwing Morrigan out of the house. He was hardly going to come down hard on his own mother, to his younger brothers and sister.  
  
"So, what, do they think she had something to do with the attacks?" Neville asked indignantly.  
  
"'Course not," Harry said, without even thinking about it. "That would be stupid of them, wouldn't it? I mean, she was at Headquarters the whole time. We were there, sitting right next to her." He thought for a moment. "I guess they were just suspicious because she'd been in trouble before, and stuff."  
  
Tristan, Harry noticed, was staring at him curiously. It was very unnerving, having those gleaming black eyes boring holes in his forehead. He frowned a bit.  
  
"Strange attitude for someone who was glad to see her go," Tristan said lightly, one of his eyebrows raised in question.  
  
Harry coloured. "Look, I don't know what your problem is," he said hotly, "but this isn't exactly the least confusing situation I've ever been in. I don't know what to be glad about, or angry about, anymore. But at least I'm trying to figure it out, all right?"  
  
Surprising Harry, Tristan grinned at him. It was by far the nicest expression Harry had ever seen on the man's face. Tristan smiling seemed an entirely different person. Because he couldn't help himself, Harry grinned back. "All right," Tristan said equably.  
  
Ron snorted with laughter. Hermione went next, and before too long, everyone was laughing.  
  
"I didn't want her to go," Harry told Tristan, once the laughter had faded a bit. "Not before we had a chance to talk."  
  
Tristan, back to his old somber self, nodded. "I'm sure you'll get the chance sooner than you expect," he said simply, and returned to his former silence.  
  
"So if no one really thinks she had anything to do with the attacks, why has she disappeared?" Ron asked. "I mean, no one's seen her recently, have they?"  
  
This was such an obvious fishing expedition that Harry was surprised anyone gave it an answer. Gwynne, after a quick and silent exchange with Nicholas and Tristan, answered. "Well, it's not that no one's seen her. It's simply that she doesn't have the Ministry as a cover anymore, so what she *does* do isn't as out-in-the-open anymore. I mean, Malcolm's seen her since start of term, I'm sure," she ended, obviously trying to sound more certain than she felt.  
  
"We've seen her since start of term," Fred said.  
  
George nodded. "Of course we have. She's been in and out of the shop a few times, hasn't she?"  
  
Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Ginny were staring at the twins, wide- eyed. Luna was quietly humming a song that sounded suspiciously like "Weasley is our King" to herself and watching them all with a languid air.  
  
"What?" Fred asked, noticing that everyone in the room was looking at him. "What's so strange about that, I'd like to know? We had to make a few adjustments to George's watch--that's what he uses for getting in touch with all of you. Since she was the one who helped us work it out to begin with, so we got hold of her. And then she came in on her way through the village last weekend, just to ask how things were going with the new shop and did we need any help."  
  
"Right," George agreed. "And she was in yesterday, just for a few minutes, on her way to--where was it, Fred? Somewhere up north of here?" Fred nodded, and George grinned. He looked around and saw everyone staring at his brother and himself as though they had grown another head apiece.  
  
"Don't know why you're making such a big deal over it," George muttered, raising an eyebrow at all of them. "You've got the cards, you six," he said nodding at Harry and the others, "and you've all got your watches or mirrors or whatever you're using to stay in touch. It's hardly like you couldn't get hold of her if you need to."  
  
Bill looked at his own watch and realised that it was past eleven-thirty. "You lot had better head back through the door in pairs," he said, nodding toward the clock on the wall. "We can't afford to have you getting back late--you'll never be allowed in the village again the way things are these days."  
  
They all got up, talking and laughing, and headed out through the hidden door into the shop, blending into the crowd inside and waving good-bye to Lee Jordan behind the counter as they left the store. Lee, busy ringing up orders like a man possessed, waved at them and shouted something about seeing them at the first Quidditch match.  
  
Outside the shop, blinking a bit in the strong noon sunlight, Harry and Ron debated on whether they had time for a quick trip into Honeydukes before they were due back. Hermione and Ginny settled the argument, running toward Honeydukes at a sprint. Harry and Ron followed them, with Neville and Luna at their heels. They caught sight of Alhena and Tristan, walking down the other side of the street, and waved at her before ducking into the shop.  
  
Loaded down with Pepper Imps and Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Bott's Every- Flavoured Beans, Enchanted Caramel Drops and Pumpkin Fudge and Tangle Taffy and Butterberry Barrels, Harry and the others ran back up the main road toward the school. On their way, they saw Alhena, then Bill, then the Nicholas and Gwynne, Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, Hagrid, and Professor Sprout, all looking grave as they looked around for any sign of trouble.  
  
They ran past Professor Snape standing near the Hogwarts gates, and hurried up to the castle to check in with Filch before they ran out of time.  
  
"Made it with three minutes to spare," Ron said with satisfaction, and they grinned at him.  
  
"Maybe," Neville said, still puffing a bit, "we should hit Honeydukes beforehand, the next time."  
  
They all nodded, and since the weather was so fine, they decided to go back outside and sit by the lake. Even Hermione was unwilling to ruin the mood by suggesting a rousing round of homework. As she told Harry later, they would have few enough days ahead where they could sit around and enjoy some quiet time. So they sat outside under the trees by the lake, and talked and laughed until dinner.  
  
As they learned at dinner that day, it was a good thing they had taken the afternoon as a break from work. Another attack, late that afternoon in Hogsmeade, had effectively ended any chance that the students would be allowed to visit it again anytime soon.  
  
The attack, which had ended in two deaths and countless injuries, had also decreased the chances of there being many relaxing afternoons in the near future.  
  
*  
  
Morrigan, remembering her meeting with MacInnes and Whiting a few hours before, couldn't even dredge up the energy to sigh. It had gone badly. She'd known it would. MacInnes had been furious that her information had not panned out, and he'd reacted as predictably as ever when given the opportunity to Curse her. She'd managed to block some of it, but spending so much of her energy to keep her power from exploding out of her had taken too much out of her. Whiting, though, had been worse.  
  
Whiting had not been angry as much as suspicious. He'd spent several hours trying to determine whether she was telling him the truth about the Hogsmeade visit times being changed. He secretly frightened her far worse than MacInnes ever could have. Pain she could deal with, if she had to. But the risk of revealing anything about Harry to Whiting was something so horrible to her that she couldn't even think about it.  
  
In the end, they'd believed her. They had, after all, caused her to lose her job. She had worked closely with them, and they had been spotted among known Death Eaters at the scene of the second attack back in August. They hadn't exactly been arresting anyone, either. And her story, that Dumbledore and his friends had stopped trusting her like they once had because MacInnes and Whiting had been spotted with the Death Eaters, was too plausible for them to entirely discount it. It made sense that she would no longer be in Dumbledore's inner circle, having worked so closely with MacInnes and Whiting. It was logical that she wouldn't have been told about the students' Hogsmeade visit being shortened by a few hours. She wasn't exactly working at the castle, in any event. Who would have thought she would care at all?  
  
They'd believed her. That didn't mean they had let her off easy. It wasn't their way.  
  
After they'd left her, she'd needed a place to hide for a while and lick her wounds. There hadn't been many options open to her.  
  
Number 12 Grimmauld Place, for obvious reasons, was out. Even if she'd been able to get inside--and she was no longer certain she could do so-- there was no point in fleeing to a house where she would be so obviously unwelcome.  
  
Her father was in Inverness, and she wouldn't go there until it was impossible to avoid it any longer. In any case, Inverness was not a particularly good place for her to escape to. Inverness had been where she had first lost control, and she didn't think those memories would help her at all.  
  
Her flat in London might have been an escape, but for Malcolm's constant presence one floor below her and the steady stream of visitors, often the Weasley brothers, to his flat. She couldn't face her own brother, let alone Bill, Charlie, Fred, and George. She was afraid of what they would say. She knew that, right now, she couldn't handle the inevitable argument with Malcolm over what she was doing. She was almost as certain that, if the Weasleys began looking at her the way the rest of the Order had last month, she would collapse completely. They were, with Malcolm, among few people in the world whose opinions mattered to her.  
  
She had needed an escape, somewhere she could be alone. Somewhere she could try to regain her control, or fail utterly, away from curious eyes. So she sat in a darkened, unfurnished flat lit only by a single candle. Her head in her hands, her hair falling forward to cover her face, she wondered, almost desperately, what to do. Too many forces were gathered around her. Too many thoughts were circling in her mind. The pull was stronger than she had known it could be. She was losing control, and she knew it. She had to make a stand. She had to find a way to regain her focus. She had to go back to the Old ways, the ways of her grandmother's people.  
  
There were too many people depending on her. Too many people clawing at her from different directions. Tomorrow, another hand would pull her in yet another direction. That hand she could not ignore. It was controlled by a mind as sharp as her own, by a man whose eyes saw everything too clearly. She wouldn't allow him to see what her choices had brought her to. She couldn't bear the disapproval, the utter contempt-and worse, the pity-if he truly saw what she had become.  
  
Her copper hair gleaming in the faint candlelight, she looked up. She avoided the mirror on the far wall; she knew only too well what it would reveal. Bruises, dark and vivid against her pale skin. Circles the color of exhaustion under her haunted green eyes. Her back ached as though she had been whipped. Her arms and legs like lead, she stood and took a deep breath. She raised her arms, and a circle of candles appeared around her. A simple come-along gesture of her fingers had their flames popping into existence, one after the other, until all thirteen were shining brightly against the gloom. She spoke words in an ancient language, and a copper bowl of water appeared in the center of the circle, surrounded by incense that burned with a scent both exotic and calming.  
  
For long moments, she did not move. She didn't do anything but stare at the water, at the candles, and breathe in the pungent air. She could feel it calming her, felt the healing that had begun as soon as she had cast her circle. That simple circle of candles, that nine-feet wide space on a dusty floor in a sketchy part of Muggle London, was the one place in the world at the moment that she was truly safe. The charmed circle, her working space, was free of the energy that pulled at her during every waking moment.  
  
Calm had become so rare to her that it felt alien and strange. She grabbed at it and held to it tightly, until she felt her body begin to relax. She let the tension drain away. As long as it had a hold on her, she couldn't perform the ritual magic she had decided on. She needed to be as calm and undistracted as she could be. So she waited, unaware of time passing, until tension and worry had faded as far away from her conscious mind as they were likely to.  
  
When she was ready, she raised her hands and chanted in a language that had not been heard in the south of England for thousands of years. As she chanted, the water in the copper bowl took on a silvery sheen which deepened and seemed to solidify. Her voice began to sound distant and disconnected from herself, something coming from outside her. She welcomed the feeling; the power flowing through her was focused inward and coursing warmly through her veins. It had been a long time since she had allowed it to move so freely. Since she had been able to. Only inside a circle of power could she allow it free rein without losing control. The energy worked within her, healing the bruises and carrying away the pain.  
  
Had she not been required to be near him tomorrow, she would not have bothered with the ritual. She considered the pain her fair share of payment for the decision she had made, for mistakes which still demanded atonement. But the consequences of weakness, where he was concerned, were disastrous. So she let the energy flow through her, cleansing and renewing her. Nothing physical would be hidden from his eyes. The physical consequences of her decision would simply cease to exist, healed by the power that ran through her like fire. In healing the pain and the marks, she would allow her mind to remain her own. She would not be distracted by the pain. She would not lose control of her mind and permit him to see into it. Never again would she allow him access to her thoughts. The last time he had seen so clearly, his contempt and his displeasure had nearly destroyed her.  
  
As the silver-toned water in the bowl became mirror-like, its surface reflecting the candlelight like quicksilver, she leaned over it. She saw her face staring back at her, bruises gone, dark circles faded. Her eyes, green and sparkling like emeralds with the force of the power inside her, stared back at her. She began the next chant, which would allow her to see.  
  
She needed to choose her steps carefully, and for that she needed an idea of what was to come. She would not see the future, not exactly. No one's magic was strong enough for that. Still, she might see some sign, some hint, of what would come. As she chanted, as she stared into the water, its surface began to ripple in a nonexistent breeze. She watched carefully as an image formed. Her focus was so narrow, so sharp, that she nearly started when the surface of the water abruptly began to whirl.  
  
As she watched, the water in the bowl turned black as night, and went suddenly, absolutely still. She gave a little moan, unable to help herself, and hid her face in her hands. Whatever she had thought might happen, whatever she had hoped for, it had not been this. She had, in fact, chosen her path in order to prevent this. It seemed that her sacrifice, then, would have been in vain.  
  
She knew that water-scrying was imprecise if performed by someone inexperienced. She wished for a fleeting moment that she was inexperienced. It would have been far easier had she not known how to focus the energy correctly, had she not drawn out the sign she had just seen. Even as that wish filled her mind, she dismissed it as selfish and unworthy. The blood of generations of Master Scriers and powerful Elves ran in her veins as surely as did the blood of generations of powerful Witches and Wizards. She was skilled enough in water-scrying to understand what she had seen. And to know, without a doubt, that it was vitally important.  
  
Death, whenever and however it showed its face, was not something to be taken lightly. 


	10. Changes in the Wind

Chapter 10: Changes In The Wind  
  
Hovering high in the air over the pitch, Harry ducked an errant Bludger and resigned himself to getting very familiar with the heavy metallic whir as it passed within inches of his head--at least for the time being. The Martin brothers were great flyers, but still needed some work on their Bludger strategy, which seemed to consist, at the moment, of hitting the Bludgers any which way with triumphant whoops.  
  
Philosophically, Harry thought that he'd rather deal with the odd Bludger unintentionally aimed in his direction than watch Katie and Ginny whizzing out of the way of the new players, who seemed strangely intent upon sending someone to the Hospital Wing today.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione and Neville cringe as another Bludger came close enough to Ron to trim his hair. Half-afraid to look, Harry turned his head and saw Ron rolling back upright from a quick evasive swerve. He gave Ron a thumbs-up, which Ron returned, then watched Ron set himself and neatly stop the Quaffle Katie had aimed at the center goal hoop.  
  
Harry watched his team practicing for a few more minutes. Christopher Lewis, the Reserve Keeper, was throwing golf balls for Dennis Creevey to catch. At the moment, it seemed that Dennis' ability to catch the balls was approximately equal to Christopher's ability to throw them very far. Sending Dennis and Christopher to the far end of the pitch had been the first exercise of his authority as captain that Harry felt entirely comfortable with; that far away from everyone else, and with their current inability to go beyond a short distance, Dennis and Christopher were unlikely to hurt either themselves or anyone else.  
  
Sighing as he watched Caitlin drop a pass from Katie, Harry gazed around the pitch in search of the Snitch's telltale golden glint. He spotted it hovering around the far goalpost, took a moment to judge the likelihood of his being sent to the Hospital Wing by either Dennis or Christopher, and decided he didn't care if he was hurt. It had been too long since he'd really had a chance to fly, too long since he could leave the threatening, indifferent world behind and simply be Harry.  
  
He dove after the Snitch, dodging first one Bludger then the other. He cut through the chilly air cleanly, his hair whipping back behind him, his eyes focused on the Snitch, his mind clear of everything but the thrill of the chase and the knowledge that, at least for a moment, nothing mattered but the Snitch. Automatically, he swerved tightly to avoid the Bludger that had circled around toward him, never hearing Dennis' high scream of alarm as Harry rocketed past the smaller boy in pursuit of the Snitch. Later, he thought he might have heard Christopher's loud curse, and he definitely felt the bruise from the golf ball on his shoulder. Just then, though, he only knew that he was free, and then his fingers were closing on the Snitch.  
  
"Gee, Harry, I'm awfully sorry," Christopher was apologising as Harry pulled out of his dive in time to skim lightly across the grass and past the two younger boys.  
  
Harry's exhilaration was waning, and he'd begun to feel the sharp ache in his shoulder that told him Christopher's last throw had hit home. Still, Harry thought, he had all but asked to be hit, deciding to go after the Snitch as it hovered past Dennis and Christopher near the goal hoops. He shrugged it off, grinning at Christopher, who grinned back uncertainly.  
  
"It's all right. I've had worse," he said, and hoped he wasn't tempting fate by saying so. He didn't want to make it sound as though it were all right to aim at people or anything. Thinking about that, Harry sighed silently and flew back to a safer height. He secretly suspected that if he told Christopher to try and hit the others, the rest of the team might be safer given Christopher's aim. He turned back to watch the others, just in time to see a Bludger narrowly miss Ginny just before she managed to send the Quaffle speeding past Ron.  
  
Caitlyn and Elinor Eames, one of the Reserve Chasers, cheered. Elinor learned the hard way that the Reserve Beaters weren't anywhere near as good as the Martins at deflecting the Bludgers as one of the speeding iron balls smashed into her broom and sent her spiraling awkwardly down 10 feet to the grass below. Harry had already started over to check on her when she shook her fist at the shamefaced Patrick Corey and yelled, "Watch what you're doing, won't you? Those things aren't exactly made of feathers, you know!"  
  
Harry had to stifle a grin. Ron, Katie, and Ginny weren't quite able to disguise their amusement. Elinor, her eyes shooting sparks Harry could nearly see even from halfway across the pitch, kicked off from the ground, irritated, and proceeded to get a Quaffle past Ron on her next attempt, the last one before Harry called an end to the team's first practice.  
  
As Ron had said later, it had been a good shot, but he'd nearly been afraid to try and stop it. The little brown-haired girl had been so angry, Ron joked to Harry and Hermione on their way down to lunch in the Great Hall, that Ron had feared for his life if she hadn't gotten her goal. Harry had laughed, but had secretly agreed. Hermione's disapproving look had kept him from saying so out loud, but the look he and Ron shared over her head made it clear that they were both of the same mind.  
  
"So. Now we've seen them all outside of tryouts," Ron said as they sat beside Katie at the Gryffindor table, "we need to come up with a plan."  
  
Hermione and Neville began debating whether they would ever have another Hogsmeade weekend while Katie, Ron, and Harry got down to a serious discussion over the team's strategy for the upcoming season. Their first match, against Hufflepuff, was a month away, and they fully intended to repeat Gryffindor's Quidditch Cup victory of the past year.  
  
*  
  
Malcolm arrived at the front door to his father's house near Inverness at almost exactly the same time as his sister. He gave her a critical once- over. She was pale and, to his eyes, too thin. Nothing else seemed to be wrong with her. Malcolm had only just begun to relax when their eyes met.  
  
She had never, Malcolm thought as he held her gaze, been able to hide anything from him if he could see her eyes. Morrigan might have repaired the external damage-he was suddenly certain that there had been damage, and a great deal of it-but he could see traces of pain and despair deep in her eyes. Knowing his sister as well as he did, Malcolm could not imagine what  
  
it must have taken to put that expression in her eyes.  
  
"Mor?" he asked, reconsidering the wisdom of answering his father's summons.  
  
"Later," she answered softly, and looked down at her feet. "Putting it off will only make it worse," she added with a nod toward the door.  
  
Malcolm sighed, knowing she was telling him the truth. "You're right," he said softly. "Come on, then," he said, and pulled her into a one-armed hug for a brief moment before opening the door. She laid her head against his shoulder for an instant before pulling away and walking through the doorway ahead of him.  
  
Malcolm caught her up in the entranceway, and they walked together down the corridor toward the stairs and their father's study on the first floor. Though they weren't walking close enough for him to brush against her, Malcolm felt his sister growing more and more tense as they made their way toward the landing. She seemed to be shrinking in front of his eyes. He touched her shoulder, and saw her smile bleakly, though she didn't look at him. He hadn't expected her to. Morrigan could be fierce when she felt the need, at least when it came to fighting for other people. When it came to fighting for herself, she had a much harder time.  
  
Malcolm knocked on the door, rolling his eyes in Morrigan's direction as he did so. She gave him a little smile, as amused as her brother was at the idea of two adults having to knock for permission to enter their father's study. It lightened her eyes, and for a moment he thought that they would get through this meeting without too much fuss.  
  
It only took his father's brusque command-"Come,"-to dispel that illusion. There was a world of impatience in that one word, and a hint of something far more ominous. Something that Malcolm recognised from the years just after his mother had been killed, something dark and slimy that hid in corners waiting for a weakness to exploit.  
  
Malcolm looked at Morrigan as he reached out for the door handle. She looked back at him. He was surprised to see that she was calm, almost resolute, and that she wasn't merely putting up a front. He raised an eyebrow at her, wondering what had caused the sudden change.  
  
"When you think about it, Mal, he's low on the list of things to worry about these days," she said softly, and saw her brother's eyes clear. She smiled. He nodded, then turned the doorknob and let them both into their father's study.  
  
Seamus Carrick sat behind a massive, ornately carved desk, a quill in his hand, and watched his children walk into the room. He noted the difference in them immediately. Not since the day his wife had been killed had Seamus ordered the twins into his study without seeing clear signals of nerves at the very least. Sometimes there had even been fear. Never had his children walked into his study shoulder to shoulder, looking very nearly defiant. Not until today.  
  
Morrigan decided not to wait for her father to invite them to sit down; she could remember too many occasions when the invitation had never come. She chose the leather armchair directly across the desk from her father, and sat down in it, crossing her jeans-clad legs and raising an eyebrow at him as she waited. Malcolm sat down beside his sister, his expression mirroring hers.  
  
Silence filled the room, heavy and dark. If she'd set out to irritate Seamus, Morrigan couldn't have picked a better way, Malcolm decided. His father was clearly feeling as though the rug had been pulled out from under him. For a moment, Malcolm was fiercely glad. He felt as though every single instance when he or Morrigan had been called onto the carpet in this room, or in its identical twin in the house in Wales, was being redeemed here and now.  
  
He should have known better.  
  
"Well?" Seamus asked, the utter calm of his voice ominous. Morrigan's expression did not change. Malcolm waited, suddenly feeling that it had been a mistake to antagonise their father.  
  
Morrigan's eyebrow rose, if possible, even higher before dropping down to its normal position. "You wanted to see us," she said mildly, and continued to watch Seamus. Malcolm got the feeling that something was going on here that he wasn't included in. Looking at Morrigan out of the corner of his eye, he recognised her outwardly mild expression as one of intense concentration.  
  
Malcolm thought quickly. Their father didn't know her well enough anymore to know what he was seeing when he looked at her. Seamus knew only that his daughter was not reacting as he'd planned, and it was infuriating him. Anger had a way of taking over Seamus, of making him lose control, Malcolm reflected. That quickly, he knew what Morrigan was doing. She was hoping to goad him into losing control so that she could get a sense of his thoughts the way she'd done with Harry.  
  
What Malcolm couldn't figure out was why Morrigan was interested in trying to read Seamus. As far as their lives were concerned, Seamus was largely an afterthought, much as they were to him. To Malcolm, there was little to be gained by goading Seamus other than the satisfaction of idle curiosity. He didn't see the point, but he wasn't going to interfere. As far as he was concerned, seeing Seamus get a little of his own back was worth the inevitable temper tantrum.  
  
"You're damned right I did," Seamus ground out through gritted teeth. His face was set with the effort of keeping his temper in check. "You've had quite the month, haven't you, young lady? Getting sacked, moving out of your flat, spending time with people you shouldn't be giving the time of day to," he spat out, his fury coming to the fore.  
  
"I didn't move out of my flat," Morrigan corrected calmly, in the same tone she might have used to comment on the fine autumn weather.  
  
"You didn't-" Seamus nearly exploded, then closed his eyes and reined in his temper. "You got sacked," he said.  
  
"I did," Morrigan agreed mildly.  
  
"And in doing so probably got your brother sacked as well," Seamus nearly spat at her.  
  
"I may have," Morrigan said, without so much as a note of apology in her voice. Malcolm wasn't fooled; they'd talked this out many times, and he knew that she felt horribly guilty about the whole thing. He was, absurdly, proud of Morrigan for refusing to show her feelings to Seamus. Seamus was an outsider; he'd never been concerned about Malcolm or Morrigan's feelings before now. It was none of his business how Malcolm and his sister felt about anything.  
  
"And you're keeping company with known Death Eaters," Seamus said forcefully, his tone accusing. He was nearly purple with the effort of keeping his voice from rising to a yell.  
  
"I can't help what my friends think," Morrigan replied blandly. "But they're my friends. I won't turn my back on them simply because we disagree on certain things."  
  
That, as Morrigan had suspected and Malcolm had known, was the last straw for Seamus. "You haven't learned a thing since your run-in with Keith Stringfellow!" he roared, standing up so suddenly that his desk chair toppled over. "It's a mystery to me how you could ignore everything staring you in the face and associate with people like that." He came around the corner of the desk, and for a moment Malcolm thought his father was going to attack his sister. Malcolm's hand was already on his wand when he saw his father halt, breathing heavily.  
  
Morrigan simply sat in her armchair, looking up at Seamus patiently as though her father were a child in the throes of a tantrum.  
  
"Well?" Seamus bellowed. "What do you have to say for yourself?"  
  
Morrigan actually appeared to be considering her answer, as outwardly unaffected by her father's anger as she would have been by news of rain halfway around the world. "Quite a lot, actually, but I have no doubt you wouldn't be even remotely interested in most of it," she said, contempt creeping into her voice. As though she'd slapped him, Seamus went still and silent.  
  
"What do you mean by that?" Seamus asked quietly. Too quietly, Malcolm thought.  
  
"I'd have thought it was fairly obvious," Morrigan said. If Seamus noticed the ever-so-slightly exaggerated patience in her voice, he gave no sign. "Long story short, you haven't given a damn about me or anything I do since I was seven. There hasn't been a thing I've done or said since Mum was murdered that has affected you in the slightest, unless you think it reflects badly on you. And then you swing the hammer, don't you?" she asked. It was clearly a rhetorical question, and Seamus didn't answer. He seemed too stunned to respond at all.  
  
"You've never cared about either of us, not since you lost Mum. I spent years trying to get your attention any way I could, just to see if you even realised Mal and I were here at all. You never did." Morrigan's voice was still even, but her eyes suddenly flashed at her father. Malcolm was stunned to see Seamus make an effort to stop himself backing up from the force of her glare.  
  
"Where were you when Mal broke his arm and his leg playing Quidditch? You were busy tilting at windmills in London, fighting enemies who had disappeared or never existed at all. Where were you when we watched all of our friends go home over Christmas holidays and we had to stay behind at school alone? Busy fighting for the good side, busy living a life that didn't include us.  
  
"Where were you when we spent entire summers at Keith's house, or Nicholas' house, or Gwynne's house because our house was empty and there was no one there to take care of us? Where were you when we needed guidance and there was no one to help? Where the hell have you ever been?" Morrigan asked, no longer troubling to keep the contempt out of her voice. "You've never been there. You don't care. So don't pretend it's suddenly different, or that you suddenly give a damn about us. You're only concerned about what effect this all might have on your little quest against evil. You're on your own there. Frankly, Da, I don't care in the slightest." She stood up, clearly intending to leave.  
  
"Don't you walk away from me!" Seamus roared, once he'd found his voice again. "Don't you talk to me like that. Blaming me for all your mistakes won't work, young lady. I-"  
  
She whirled to face her father, and the look on her face was truly horrible- a mixture of fury and grief that shook Malcolm to his core. "My name," she hissed, "is Morrigan. See if you can remember that, won't you?"  
  
Seamus' hand flew as if of its own accord, the force of the slap rocking her back on her heels. Morrigan nearly fell, but caught her balance just before it was too late. Seamus stared at his hand as though it was an alien thing, a part of him he had never noticed before. He looked, Malcolm thought, completely stunned. The anger had left him completely. In its place was a kind of dawning horror that was as difficult to look at as the deathly white handprint on Morrigan's left cheek.  
  
Morrigan stood straight and tall before her father, and lifted her chin proudly. "Don't ask me to answer to you," she said softly, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "Don't ever ask me to do that, Da. You're not the perfect person you'd like us to believe. How much of your fight is atonement, and how much is principle?" she asked him sadly, and Seamus' face hardened.  
  
"Don't ever cross my doorstep again, Morrigan Carrick," he managed, his voice as deadly soft as hers had been. "You're no daughter of mine. From this moment on, you are dead to me," he finished, his blue eyes as cold as ice.  
  
She laughed. The sound was chilling and bitter. "Do you know what, Da?" she asked, her eyes meeting Seamus' squarely. "I have been since I was seven. This only makes it official."  
  
Without a sound, she Disapparated. Malcolm saw a distinct expression of pride at her talent pass swiftly across his father's face before it disappeared. Seamus made his way back to his chair, waved his wand at it to right it, and sat down.  
  
"I suppose you'll be wanting to blame me for all your problems next," he shot at Malcolm.  
  
"No, actually neither of us have ever done that, whether we should have or not. And as for what I wanted to say to you, Morrigan handled that bit quite nicely," Malcolm said evenly. "But, to save you the trouble of repeating yourself, yes, I was sacked, and yes, I've changed some of my friends."  
  
Seamus snorted. "And hardly to the right kind. A werewolf, two red-headed troublemakers, and those musicians," he said, and his lip curled. "Wonderful for your career-no, wait, they can't possibly hurt it more than your sister did."  
  
Malcolm stood up. "She did nothing to hurt my career," he replied, fighting to keep his tone mild. "You don't even know us anymore. Do you think that keeping tabs on us from a distance gives you any idea who we are?"  
  
"A pair of idiots, from what I can see. Sacked, keeping company with the wrong sort, and all but joining the other side," Seamus said with a disgusted look at his oldest child.  
  
Malcolm found that he suddenly understood how Morrigan could be so calm in the face of such paternal contempt. Quite simply, it didn't matter any longer what his father thought of him. Anyone who knew him so little couldn't possibly have an opinion that meant anything to Malcolm. "You don't know anything about it," Malcolm said without heat. "I'll see myself  
  
out," he added, turning to leave.  
  
"You wouldn't turn to his side," Seamus shot after him, but the statement had the quality of a plea.  
  
"What do you think?" Malcolm threw back over his shoulder, walked through the door, and Disapparated for home.  
  
He couldn't remember ever feeling so free.  
  
*  
  
Walking back to the Gryffindor portrait-hole after a short tutoring session with Alhena, Harry and Ron kept talking Quidditch and Hermione and Neville kept rolling their eyes. As Neville gave the password to the Fat Lady, Harry remembered that he'd left his quill and ink bottle in the tutoring classroom, and turned back to retrieve it. He hurried through the corridors, not wanting a confrontation with Filch over being out of Gryffindor Tower after hours, and arrived at the dimly lit classroom a few minutes after he'd left it.  
  
As he approached the door, Harry frowned. He'd expected the classroom to be dark, as all of the students had gone ahead of the Gryffindors, and he'd seen Alhena preparing to leave as well. Apparently someone had stayed behind, Harry thought, watching the square of dim light on the opposite wall of the corridor, cast by candlelight through the high window of the classroom door. Harry crept silently along the last few feet of corridor and listened intently, trying to discover who was inside the room. The square of light in the dim hallway first disappeared, then reappeared as someone passed between the candle and the door. Harry stopped moving, his back against the cold dark stone wall, his ears straining to recognise a voice in the hollow silence of the corridor. He wished the doors at Hogwarts weren't quite so thick. Then he remembered the Extendable Ears Ron had been playing with at dinner, and his hands fell to his pockets. Finding one set of Extendable Ears after a short search through his robe pockets, he slipped it out and put one end to his ear.  
  
Immediately, the flesh-colored string began to stretch, creeping down to the floor, sliding along the stones until it reached the classroom door. Without so much as a hesitation, the string slipped under the door, and Harry jumped involuntarily as a voice spoke suddenly and loudly in his ear.  
  
"Something about a fire, you said?" Bill Weasley's voice asked, in a tone far more serious than Harry had heard from Ron's oldest brother since the Quidditch World Cup two years ago. "He was thinking about a fire?"  
  
"Something about a fire," Alhena agreed. "A fire, and Harry, and Voldemort."  
  
Bill's hiss of breath was loud in the room. "I really hate it when you do that," Bill said, sounding both entirely serious and somewhat amused. "Say that name without the slightest warning," he added.  
  
"Sorry." Alhena's voice was distracted. If she truly felt apologetic, Harry thought, anyone would have been hard put to tell by her tone. "Listen, we really need to find out more about this. I'd gladly go and try to find out more from him, but I don't think it would do any good."  
  
"No. Don't do that. You wouldn't want to take the chance of stirring up a hornet's nest," Bill pointed out. "It wouldn't look normal, would it, your showing up there now?"  
  
Alhena's laugh was weary and not very amused. "No. Truly, it wouldn't have been normal even before this."  
  
"Right. Well, we have at least one other way to try that, if it becomes necessary. So don't worry about that for the moment. "You've got the library there to check in, and Tris and Nick and Gwynne, so you can work on this from there. And we've got the other members, and Professor Dumbledore, to work on things from this end. You're sure it was about Harry?"  
  
"I'm sure," Alhena replied, sounding absolutely exhausted. "And possibly about Ron, though I can't be sure. It was all very quick."  
  
Bill was silent for a long moment, then asked, "Could it have been about what we discussed this past summer?"  
  
Alhena's sigh was full of frustration and uncertainty. "I simply don't know, Bill. It might be. And then again, it might be something else altogether. Still, now you mention it, that would fit quite nicely, wouldn't it?"  
  
"Almost too nicely," Bill replied drily, but it was clear that the idea was weighing heavily on his mind. "Well, I might as well get to work on this. Same time tomorrow?" he asked.  
  
"Same time tomorrow," she answered, and silence fell over the classroom again. Harry, his quill and ink forgotten headed off down the corridor at as silent a run as he could manage, before Alhena left the classroom and caught him eavesdropping. His mind was racing as he pounded up the staircases toward the Gryffindor portrait-hole, and when he finally reached it, panting, he had to think hard to remember the password--"venomous tentacula"--to give to the Fat Lady. She sighed tiredly and swung open to let Harry into the Common Room.  
  
Of course, he had to go up to his dormitory to retrieve a spare quill and ink bottle, and this caused a great deal of curiosity on the part of Ron and Hermione, at least. Harry imagined that they'd seen the look on his face and come to their own conclusions as to why he had come back from the tutoring classroom without his quill and ink. As soon as they could get him alone--or, rather, as alone as it was possible to be in the chaos of the Common Room not long after dinner--they asked Harry about his trip back downstairs.  
  
"Well, I never got into the classroom," Harry explained in low tones, although the last thing anyone in the Common Room appeared to be interested in was listening to their conversation. "The door was closed and a candle was lit. Alhena was still in there. She was talking to Bill," he said.  
  
"My brother Bill?" Ron asked, as though the strangest thing he'd ever heard of was the idea of his oldest brother talking to Alhena Farrell.  
  
"Oh, REALLY, Ron," Hermione said, with an impatient huff. "It's not as though they've never met, or have no reason to speak at all." In Hemione's opinion, Bill Weasley had a very good reason indeed-several, in fact-to want to speak to Alhena Farrell, but she wasn't about to get into that with either Harry or Ron.  
  
"I mean, there's the Junior Order, isn't there?" Harry said, rolling his eyes in Ron's direction. He completely missed the long-suffering look that passed between Ginny and Hermione.  
  
"Oh, yeah, right," Ron said, with dawning comprehension. Harry snorted with laughter, and both he and Ron missed the look Ginny gave Hermione, which was identical to the look Hermione had given Ginny moments before.  
  
"So, they were talking about a fire, and about you and Ron, and.Voldemort?" Hermione asked in a voice little more than a whisper. Ron, Neville, and Ginny flinched almost imperceptibly. Harry thought that they were getting much better about hearing Voldemort's name spoken out loud than they had been even a few months ago. He had high hopes that, by Christmas, they wouldn't flinch at all, only turn pale as milk.  
  
Harry nodded. Neville frowned along with the others; it made no sense to any of them. There didn't seem to be any connection-Harry, Ron, Voldemort, and a fire? Were they all going to burn up? Where would they all be together that could catch on fire-Hogwarts? Hogsmeade?  
  
Hermione sighed, frustrated, and brushed her hair out of her face impatiently. "It's just not enough information to go off of," she said. "We need to know more. It could be anything-a real fire, a magical fire, a spell.anything."  
  
"No, not really," Neville said after a long moment of silence. "I mean, would anyone really be interested in a fire unless it was something Voldemort was looking for?"  
  
They all stared at him as though seeing him for the first time ever. He looked back at them without flinching, and shrugged. "Makes sense, that's all," he said, turning a bit pink.  
  
"That's great thinking, Neville," Ron said admiringly. "Really great. I mean it."  
  
"Honestly, Neville, it would have taken us weeks to think of it," Hermione said. Her statement might not have been strictly true, Harry thought, but it probably wasn't far off. In any event, Neville's flush heightened, and his pleased little smile widened.  
  
"So if it's something." Ron began, saw Hermione getting ready to roll her eyes, and all but spit out, "Voldemort.wants, then it's probably a magical thing, right? I mean, he could just get some matches otherwise, couldn't he?"  
  
Harry nodded, but felt his lips twitch and had to fight back laughter. "Right. Or he could just point his wand," he managed solemnly. Ginny looked away, but as she did, Harry saw signs of imminent giggles dancing in her eyes, and he nearly ruined the whole thing by bursting into laughter.  
  
"So it's some kind of important magical fire," Hermione said softly, and Harry and Ginny, avoiding each others' eyes, made an effort to be serious. "Important enough to have.Alhena and Bill worried about it." Ron, Neville, and Harry didn't notice Hermione's hesitation before Alhena's name, but Harry looked up in time to catch the warning glance that sped between Ginny and Hermione. Then Ron started wondering out loud what kind of magical fire it could be, and Harry forgot all about the expression on Ginny's face.  
  
Katie Bell wandered over as Harry was about to add a few questions to Ron's speculations, and Ron interrupted Harry by turning the subject to Quidditch. Katie sat down in the empty spot beside Neville, and they discussed tomorrow's practice for a few minutes before Katie went off to finish some homework. Suddenly realising that they shouldn't have been discussing Voldemort and the fire in the Common Room-they had promised to be more responsible than that, and after last year they understood that lives could depend on their ability to come through as promised-Harry and the others turned their attention to their homework and left the matter of the fire for later.  
  
*  
  
"Right, so, I guess that's it for today," Harry said, and the others turned toward him. He caught sight of a weak wisp of smoke trailing up from the back of the room. With a barely-restrained sigh, he pointed his wand at the hem of Dean's robes and spoke the Extinguishing Spell he'd practiced for just such an occasion. It was only to be expected, he thought, his mood improving. This was, after all, only the first D.A. meeting of term, and it was just possible that the Flameriver Curse had been a bit too ambitious for a first meeting.  
  
Now that D.A. was an official club rather than a secret organisation, its ranks had swarmed to nearly fifty students. Rather than the disappointment Harry had expected with the absence of any need for sneaking around or mystery, he had found over the course of the hour-long meeting that D.A. was somehow even more fun than it had been before. He told himself sternly that it had nothing to do with the fact that all of the new members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team had arrived early, and had enthusiastically set to work, apparently eager to once again risk their lives among their teammates. He had a hard time keeping his face straight remembering the way Caitlin had jinxed Zach Martin for nearly setting her hair on fire.  
  
"Harry! Hey, Harry!" Colin called, and Harry, still trying to stifle a huge grin, turned toward Colin. He raised a questioning eyebrow, and Colin beamed, then rushed on. "Same time next week, right, Harry?" he asked, so excited his words were nearly tripping over themselves in their hurry to leave his mouth. Harry couldn't blame him. It was perhaps the first D.A. meeting at which neither Colin nor his younger brother had been in any danger of a trip to the Hospital Wing.  
  
"Same time next week," Harry confirmed, and the group began to disperse in twos and threes, heading back toward their respective Common Rooms. As Luna left the emptying classroom with Cho, they both grinned at Harry and waved. Harry grinned and waved back, and his reaction had nothing to do with the new elastic band, decorated with something suspiciously like carrot shavings, holding Luna's braid in place. He was simply relieved that he and Cho could be friends. The summer had done them both good, with its freedom from deep talks about Cedric, arguments about Marietta-whose boils had disappeared at last when she'd found Hermione on the second day of term and apologised profusely-and worries about dating each other.  
  
Cho and Roger Davies were still dating, and Harry could say, with absolute truthfulness, that he was glad about that fact. He still thought Cho was beautiful, and he supposed he always would. But he wasn't ready to date her. Cedric still hung between them, unspoken and unthreatening but definitely there. Still, her wave had been decidedly friendlier than his last conversation with her, on the Hogwarts Express leaving school at the end of last term, and that was enough for Harry, for now. He had enough on his mind without another school year filled with worries about Cho.  
  
Harry shouldered his bag and followed his friends out of the room. As they walked down the corridor, Harry found himself thinking about the fire, and Ron, and Voldemort. The question of the magical fire had bothered him since he'd overheard Alhena talking about it on Sunday. Since then, it had been running through his mind continuously. Now, four days later, he felt like he might go mad if he didn't find out anything more soon. When they reached the marble staircase, Ginny and Katie headed upstairs, and Harry, raising his eyebrows at Ron and Hermione, headed down the hallway toward the tutoring classroom. They went on up toward the Common Room, but it was clear from their expressions that they would have preferred to go with Harry.  
  
*  
  
The classroom was empty, as Harry had expected it to be, but he checked out the room anyway. He felt like an idiot, looking under the unused desks and in all the dark corners, but he wasn't taking any chances. He just hoped no one came in and found him bending over to check under the desks. He had no idea in the world how he would have explained it.  
  
Satisfied that the room was empty, he took his Chocolate Frog card out of his pocket, and felt it grow warm in his hands. He waited through the glow that indicated that the charms on the card were working to recognise him- the card glowed red, then gold, then the light subsided-then spoke his password: Quidditch World Cup. The card glowed again, briefly this time, and he saw Tristan's face appear in the frame where the card's photograph of Dumbledore belonged.  
  
"What's up, Harry?" Tristan asked, his dark eyebrows raised questioningly. His eyes, dark and intense despite his casual tone, met Harry's squarely.  
  
"I was wondering if Alhena is there," Harry said, then sighed and thought that he should have considered this a bit more carefully. He had no idea how to bring up the subject of the fire. He had no idea if he should even mention it at all, now that he was talking to Tristan.  
  
"She's not, at the moment. She probably won't be bad for an hour or so- she's in London. Anything I can help you with?" Tristan asked, and something in his tone-some unexpected sympathy-had Harry spilling everything.  
  
"Well, I'm not sure if anyone can help me, really," Harry confessed, and sat down on what would have been the Professor's desk in any other classroom. "I forgot something in the classroom on Sunday, and when I came back down to get it, I overheard Alhena talking to Ron's brother Bill about something. And it's been bothering me ever since. And I know that I shouldn't have overheard it, and I know that I should have told her right away, and I know that I should have asked her, but-"  
  
"Slow down, Harry," Tristan said, clearly amused. "Alhena puts Charms on the door. If it hadn't been you, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville, or Luna that had been near the door, you wouldn't have been able to overhear it at all. And if it hadn't been something you were allowed to overhear, you wouldn't have overheard it. So relax." Harry did, with a sigh, then heard Tristan speak again. "Though you're right, you should have asked her right away. Good to know you've grown up enough to know it."  
  
Tristan, to Harry's eyes, looked as though he was trying hard not to laugh. Harry stifled a wave of irritation. He'd asked for it, after all.  
  
"Right," Harry said, and sighed again. "So, do you know anything about it? We figured that it's some kind of magical fire, and an important one, or Voldemort wouldn't be trying to get hold of it. And we figured it does something that would help him out, and that's as far as we got. Except that someone thinks that Ron and I are going to be involved somehow."  
  
If this information surprised Tristan, he gave no sign. "Well, at the moment that's about what we know, too. We've got people looking into it, of course," he said, and ran long, pale fingers through his dark hair. Harry thought that Tristan's hair looked as though he did this habitually. "We can't put a lot of obvious effort into it at the moment. We don't want to raise any eyebrows. But we're working on it."  
  
Harry nodded. "We're going to scour the library on Saturday," he admitted, "when we're working on our essays. We've got a ton of stuff to get done," he added unenthusiastically.  
  
Tristan grinned. "Well, we'll keep you posted if we find out anything. Make sure you have plenty of time for all those essays," he said, and laughed softly when Harry winced.  
  
"Gee, thanks," Harry said darkly.  
  
Tristan just grinned. "Oh, and Harry?" he asked, just before Harry was about to say goodbye. Harry looked back at the card. Tristan was still grinning. "If you should see any unfamiliar magical fires hovering in the corridors, give us a ring, won't you?"  
  
Harry laughed; he couldn't help himself. The sound of Tristan's chuckles kept him company.  
  
On his way up to the Common Room, he took the stairs two at a time, all but running. His relief, enormous and overpowering, made him feel like he had wings.  
  
*  
  
Bill sat on Morrigan's sofa, between Charlie and Remus Lupin. Malcolm, sprawled in an armchair near the fireplace, and Tonks, nearly swallowed up by armchair on the other side of the hearth, watched Nicholas pacing the floor beside the windows. Morrigan slipped a silver half-moon pendant out from beneath her shirt and held it for a moment. There was a brief silver flash, then Morrigan spoke a password, too softly for Bill to hear. Whatever it had been, the phrase made Tonks laugh softly. Morrigan grinned at Tonks, then let the pendant fall, and they all heard Tristan's voice as clearly as though he were in the room with them. In a sense, Bill supposed, Tristan was.  
  
"So I just heard from your cousin," Tristan said in a lazy drawl, and immediately, all eyes in the room went to Morrigan. She shrugged.  
  
"Did you, then?" she asked, sounding no more than interested. "What did he have to say about overhearing other people's conversations?"  
  
Tristan laughed. The others relaxed. Few people could make Tristan laugh- really laugh. The Carrick twins were two of those, and even they could not make him laugh often. And they could never make him laugh when anything urgent was afoot. The sound of Tristan's laughter was as good as a guarantee that whatever Harry had contacted him about, it hadn't been an emergency.  
  
"Well, first he said that he knew that he shouldn't have been eavesdropping and he hadn't meant to and he knew he should have told someone right away and he knew that he should have asked Alhena about it immediately." Tristan's voice indicated that he was grinning, and in that, at least, he was no different than anyone in Morrigan's flat. "Then he said that he had heard Alhena and Bill talking about a fire and Voldemort and himself and Ron, and he wanted to know whether I knew anything about that."  
  
"Did you?" Morrigan asked, as if inquiring whether Tristan had had a nice day.  
  
Tristan laughed again. "I did," he replied. "But before I told him that, Harry said that he and the others had discussed it, carefully and secretly, and they had decided that it must be an important kind of magical fire that was somehow valuable to Voldemort."  
  
"Did they, now?" Morrigan said softly, and for the first time sounded truly interested. "And did they come to any other conclusions, then?"  
  
"Only that they should ask someone whether we knew more than they did, and that they were going to spend part of their Saturday writing essays in the Library and maybe examine a few books while they were there," Tristan replied.  
  
Morrigan's grin was thoughtful. It was half appreciation for the strategy, and half consideration of the idea. "We'll have to get back with him, Tris. I don't know that it's a great idea to have all six of them studying up on magical fires in the Library, not all together anyway, and not all at the same time. I mean, for Hermione or Ginny or Luna that would be normal, wouldn't it, but for Harry and Ron and Neville, maybe not so normal."  
  
"Well, from what I've heard," Nicholas said, stopping near the window, "the boys have put on a bit of a studying rush, haven't they?" he added. Morrigan waited, knowing from years of experience that Nicholas wasn't finished. "It might not last long, but I'd imagine they'll stick with it for a little while yet. Seems like it's some kind of competition for the highest marks. So it might actually be in character for them to study more than usual, at least for the moment."  
  
Morrigan considered that, and looked around at the others.  
  
Lupin laughed. "I've had them as students. Really, all three of the boys could use an incentive to hit the library every now and again. Not too much," he said, shaking his head. "Wouldn't want them forgetting everything they've learned about rule-breaking. But yes, I think they could stand a little more library work."  
  
Malcolm snorted. "A little more, and only a little more. They've got enough on their plates right now without worrying about too much extra."  
  
"Any word about Hogsmeade? There was originally supposed to be a visit next month," Tonks observed. "I haven't been to any meetings lately," she said unnecessarily. "We've been working 'round the clock trying to find the Death Eaters responsible for the attack on Sunday." She sighed tiredly. "We haven't had much luck. It's as though they disappeared into thin air." She looked worn out, and uncharacteristically frustrated. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her paler-than-usual skin contrasted jarringly with her deep violet hair.  
  
"Doesn't look like there will be a visit, at least not unless things calm down a good deal before then," Morrigan said, laying a sympathetic hand on Tonks' shoulder. Tonks sighed again, but her face had relaxed a bit, and she looked less horribly tired. "It has nothing to do with whether they're caught," she added. "It's all whether the attacks slow down or stop, from what I understand. It's simply not worth the risk, no matter how much the kids love it and no matter how much the town could use the extra business."  
  
"Right," Tonks said, nodding, and closed her eyes. Charlie, watching from the sofa, thought that it was entirely possible that Tonks hadn't realised until that moment that finding the Death Eaters responsible might have no bearing on the Hogsmeade situation. She'd been working around the clock for four days, and she was functioning on so little sleep it wasn't worth mentioning. Charlie figured that she'd probably completely lost perspective on the situation.  
  
Somehow, realising that arresting someone for the attack wouldn't change whether Harry and the others could get to Hogsmeade, had taken some of the pressure off of Tonks. Out of the corner of his eyes, Charlie caught sight of Bill leaning forward. Seeing Bill's eyes narrow on Morrigan, Charlie reconsidered his original thoughts on Tonks' mental state. He thought that the hand Morrigan had laid on Tonks' shoulder had perhaps had more to do with relieving Tonks' tension. Charlie looked at Morrigan. Morrigan looked back at him, and gave him a solemn little wink. It was there and gone so fast that Charlie wasn't even sure he'd seen it, but the tiny smile on Morrigan's face reassured him: someone else was looking out for Tonks when Charlie could not.  
  
"So will you have Alhena get back with Harry tomorrow about the whole thing," Tristan asked, "or will I call him back?"  
  
"There's Potions tutoring tomorrow, I think," Morrigan said, considering. "So Alhena should be able to take care of it?"  
  
"Where is she, anyway?" Bill asked, raising an eyebrow at Morrigan. "I thought she was coming."  
  
Charlie nodded, looking interested. Nicholas' expression became unreadable as he looked at Morrigan. Malcolm watched, his expression inquiring. Lupin's face remained serious, though his eyes were distinctly amused, as he waited for Morrigan's answer. Tonks let out a soft snore.  
  
"Something came up, I'd imagine," Morrigan said with a shrug. "She's staying at Tristan's most often, and he's not worried, so I wouldn't think it's anything particularly serious."  
  
Lupin smiled. "Well, if Tristan's not worried, I don't see why we should be." He settled back into the overstuffed cushions of the sofa and sighed.  
  
"Well, if you've nothing else, Mor, I've got plenty to do on this end, so I'll let you go." Tristan, Bill noticed, sounded enormously amused. "I'll let you know if I hear more before I see Alhena tonight."  
  
"Right. Thanks, Tris. Have a good one," Morrigan said. It was clear that, however glad she had been to hear from Tristan, her mind was preoccupied with other things.  
  
"Mor. MacInnes and Whiting," Malcolm said, and Morrigan sighed. She walked over to the window and opened it a bit, then lit a cigarette.  
  
"Right. MacInnes and Whiting. They're becoming something of a two-man sideshow of darkness," Morrigan said after a moment. "Suffice it to say that they've probably been heavily involved in all of the attacks that have happened since August. From what I can tell, they do a bit of scouting around to see what the most likely targets are. That's why they want me around, for the moment. They're looking for information, and since word has it that I'm close to Dumbledore, they think they can get it from me."  
  
"How exactly have you managed to work it so that they don't get any information and you don't get killed?" Bill asked bluntly, and everyone who was awake in the room stared first at Bill, then at Morrigan. It was an angle of Morrigan's work that all of them, with the exception of Malcolm, tended to ignore, because it was uncomfortable, and because they didn't want to think of her being hurt. Now that it was out in the open, however, they wanted to know.  
  
"Well, let's just say that I won't be working for them much longer. Their patience is running short, and I've no intention of dying to keep them thinking I'm on their side while passing them all sorts of stuff that isn't useful to them. It won't be long before it's time for me to disappear," Morrigan said reflectively, blowing smoke out the window. The trick, she added silently, is making sure that I make myself disappear rather than MacInnes and Whiting doing it for me. The expression on Bill's face said that her answer was a bit too glib, but she wasn't in the mood to have a long, drawn-out discussion of the risks of what she was doing.  
  
She'd known the risks, after all, when she'd agreed to work for the Order. She'd known the risks, and had accepted them, so there was no point crying over spilt milk now. While she'd expected to have a bit more time before the danger became so great, she'd known that, eventually, it would happen. It was no use complaining about the timing.  
  
She looked up and saw Bill staring at her, those blue eyes narrowing dangerously. "I know," she said with a shrug. "I thought I'd have more time to keep them distracted and off-track. But I can't do anything about it. They've raised the stakes more quickly than any of us expected. So we have to change our plans accordingly."  
  
"Seems to me that the only person who has to change any plans is you," Lupin said with deceptive mildness; his eyes held deep concern, "and it's to save your life."  
  
Nicholas looked at her, as though he'd suddenly realised that she wasn't merely playing a game. Charlie sat there, stunned, staring at Morrigan without a word. And Tristan, who had just Apparated into the living room, scowled at her.  
  
"Gwynne just got to the house to take over," Tristan said darkly. "So we're all finally on the same page on this. Frankly, Mor, it's high time the game with those two ended. They're too damned dangerous, and you're stretched too thin as it is."  
  
Morrigan acknowledged that with a nod. "Right. I know," she said, and shrugged. "But there wasn't anything else I could do if we wanted to find out what they were up to."  
  
"That's arguable," Tristan said, and conjured a chair beside Malcolm's. "But it's over and done with, so there's no point arguing it all over again. You've been in more danger than we've been willing to acknowledge up till now. It's done a lot of good, frankly-we would have been caught by surprise with the students in Hogsmeade if not for the information you got us. Merlin only knows what it cost you," he added, glaring at her. She waved that away.  
  
"At any rate," Lupin took over, standing and pacing between the door and Tonks' armchair, "it's getting far too dangerous. You're no use to us dead, Morrigan." Their eyes met, and Morrigan looked away.  
  
"You're one of the best pieces of protection we have for Harry," Tristan said.  
  
"She's not even at Hogwarts," Charlie said, frowning. Bill was fairly certain that his brother wasn't even aware that he'd spoken out loud.  
  
The silence grew for a moment, then Tristan laughed. "Let's cut through the crap, shall we? Mor, it's really about time this little masquerade ended. At least here."  
  
Charlie gaped at them. He was, Tristan noticed with real amusement, the only person who seemed even remotely surprised about the fact that there was any masquerade going on at all. And that was probably because Charlie spent most of his time in Wales these days.  
  
For the briefest of moments, Morrigan seemed to be about to argue, then realised that Charlie was the only one who didn't know, and sighed. Charlie was about to ask her what was going on when, between one blink and the next, she became Alhena, then changed back.  
  
Charlie paused for a moment, then grinned at Morrigan. "You're good," he said, then grinned at her. He grabbed his pack of cigarettes and lit one with his wand. He was about to ask her how she planned to disappear when a silvery flash flew through the open window and into the room. It streaked past the others to hover in front of Remus Lupin, who looked at it calmly.  
  
"Looks like someone's trying to get hold of you, Remus," Morrigan observed drily, and grinned at him. Their eyes met.  
  
Lupin grinned back at her, his eyes twinkling, then pointed his wand at the vaguely bird-shaped dart of light. "Abrimi orden," he intoned with such excessive gravity that Morrigan snorted with laughter. Bill and Charlie grinned. Malcolm bit his lip and Nicholas turned back toward the window for a moment. One corner of Tristan's mouth quirked upward despite his obvious efforts to prevent it. Tonks snored gently.  
  
A silvery, opaque piece of parchment unrolled in the air in front of Lupin, and he scanned the silvery words written on it for a moment before heaving a sigh and picking up his wand again.  
  
"Demi escriba," Lupin said, and pointed his wand. They waited in respectful silence as Lupin's wand moved in front of the floating silvery parchment. More writing appeared toward the bottom of the page, in Lupin's unhurried, rather neat writing. In only a few moments, Lupin sent the message back to its sender, and grinned at all of them.  
  
"Well, it seems that someone at Hogwarts has come to the same conclusion as you have," Lupin said to Morrigan, raising his eyebrows. "Advice is to start pulling your cards off the table as soon as you can reasonably manage it."  
  
Morrigan considered that for a moment. Remus wasn't the only one who admired her for failing to show the relief that had to be running through her just then. "Strange," she finally said. "That someone at Hogwarts knows that it's the right time," she added. She was about to continue when a knock on the door had her frowning and moving over to the door.  
  
She paused in front of the door, considering, and everyone in the room- including Tonks; the knock had woken her up with a start-pulled out their wand and pointed it toward the door.  
  
Morrigan shook her head at them and explained, "Fred and George." Wands were lowered, but not put away. Morrigan unlocked the door and stepped aside so that Fred and George could make their way into her flat.  
  
"You've got that tricky little Anti-Apparition Jinx going," Fred said amiably, giving Morrigan a hug.  
  
"Yeah, you'd think that no one wanted us here," George added with a grin, hugging her as soon as Fred let her go.  
  
Morrigan laughed at them. "Sorry about that. I completely forgot you said you were coming over when you were done at the shop," she told them. "My fault. Have a seat," she said, and Tristan was nice enough to conjure a pair of chairs for them. They grinned at him; conjuring was something they still hadn't quite gotten the hang of. They were still practicing, and routinely had Lee throwing fits when the chair he'd sat on disappeared from beneath him. They considered that the height of rudeness. After all, in deference to his safety they had stopped conjuring ladders.  
  
"Right. So how's business, lads?" Malcolm asked.  
  
"It's bloody well exploding, isn't it?" George asked contentedly, grinning like a fool.  
  
"Can't keep up with it in both the shops. We had to hire someone else for the Diagon Alley shop, didn't we?" Fred asked. "Couldn't take the chance, hiring someone new for the Hogsmeade place, so we're both going to be there full-time," he added.  
  
Tristan nodded approval, which had both twins beaming at him again. The corner of his mouth twitched again. He didn't trouble to fight it this time. He rarely showed it, but the Weasley twins were the cause of endless secret amusement for him.  
  
"So when are you getting out of this ridiculous bad Auror business," Fred asked, leaning forward to address Morrigan.  
  
She grinned at him. "Soon," she said, with a shrug. "There isn't much future in it, really."  
  
George grinned at her, delighted. "Right. So you'll be needing a job. We have a position open for-"  
  
"Stop," she told him, laughing. "Selling isn't really my strong point."  
  
"Can't blame a fellow for trying," George said with a shrug. "Still, it's probably a good time to change careers. What are you looking into?"  
  
She hesitated, then shrugged. Bill saw Fred and George look quickly at Morrigan, then away. It had been the briefest of looks; Bill never would have seen it had he not been watching Morrigan so closely. Nevertheless, those green eyes had sparked with warning, a warning both of the twins seemed to understand. "I'm not really sure. I'll have to get back to you."  
  
"Be sure to," Fred told her, his expression uncharacteristically solemn. He ruined the effect by giving her a wink so exaggerated it was nearly grotesque. She bit her lip to hold back laughter. "Oh. Here. Almost forgot-here's that stuff you said Harry forgot last time they were in Hogsmeade." He pulled a small package out of his robes, and tossed it to her. She caught it handily and slid it into an inside pocket of her robes, then appeared to forget all about it. Bill, watching her closely, saw her meet George's eyes and nod almost imperceptibly.  
  
"Tonks. How's the good Auror business going?" George said. He caught Morrigan's eye again, Bill noticed, as he asked the question. This time, if any signal passed between them, Bill couldn't see them. Tonks started talking with Fred and George about the search for the Death Eaters who had attacked Hogsmeade the past Sunday, and despite her exhaustion the twins had her laughing in no time.  
  
Morrigan was grinning at the sound of her friend's laughter from the window, where she'd moved to join Nicholas in another cigarette. Malcolm took over the teasing of Tonks, and Bill saw Fred and George look quickly at Morrigan again, then away. Fred began telling everyone about some of the stranger customers that had come through the shop, alternating tales with Fred until Charlie and Tonks left in order to get enough sleep to manage to get through the next workday without serious injuries. Although the others had no particular reason to leave early, they seemed to take Charlie and Tonks' leaving as a cue, and everyone stood. The Weasleys left together, then Morrigan, Nicholas and Tristan Disapparated to Tristan's house in Hogsmeade.  
  
Malcolm went downstairs to his own flat, and buried himself in books, looking for references to magical fires. In Hogsmeade, at Tristan's house, Morrigan did the same. In his own flat in London, Bill got started on his own research. Remus Lupin had begun reading immediately on arriving home. Charlie spent an hour looking through books. Fred and George spent far longer than that-nearly as long as Nicholas and Gwynne. Tristan, never one to waste the night hours sleeping, pored through book after book until dawn.  
  
By noon, news of the search of the fire was wending its way through a secret network. It reached the end of the line, and caused no end of dark amusement. The matter of the fire's discovery, and who would manage it first, was irrelevant. Much work had already been done to insure the end result.  
  
The Dark Lord would indeed be pleased.  
  
The mice were scurrying through the maze. It only remained to be seen how many could escape before the lights went out.  
  
*  
  
Harry sat on the bench in the changing room before Quidditch practice. Ron was telling him all about Transfiguration class-Professor McGonagall had offered a non-N.E.W.T. Transfiguration class this year, and Ron had been happy enough to sign up for it in hopes of increasing his chances at surviving the Transfiguration N.E.W.T. when it finally arrived. Apparently, Ron's class was little different than Harry's N.E.W.T. class, at least so far. There had been dozens of small but highly amusing accidents already, and both classes were beginning to believe that Professor McGonagall's lips had become permanently white and thin.  
  
In the middle of laughing over the image of Terence Higgs transfiguring his rat into a three-legged purple jartoad instead of a four-legged jackrabbit, Harry winced. His scar was hurting. The pain was nothing like the searing ache of last year; the Occlumency lessons with Alhena had done that much for him. Still, he recognised the flare of pain as the same kind, and waited for a moment to see if it would intensify.  
  
The pain did not grow worse, but in the moments he waited, his control slipped, and he heard four words, spoken with such hatred that they banished the warm pain and sent ice into his heart.  
  
Alhena Farrell.  
  
Morrigan Carrick.  
  
He felt Ron's eyes on him, concerned, but could not bring himself to meet his friends' gaze-not yet. Harry almost preferred last year's stabbing, fiery headaches to this icy, murderous knowledge.  
  
Alhena and Morrigan were in immediate danger.  
  
Mortal danger.  
  
The ache subsided, and with it the soft echo of the voice in his head. Harry wished it would come back, because it left him empty of everything but chills and a sense of dark, frozen panic. It was all the worse because he had no idea where either Alhena or Morrigan was.  
  
He frowned. He thought that he could run to the empty classroom and try to contact someone with his Chocolate Frog card. Almost as soon as the thought had come, he discarded it as too risky. It would attract too much attention, and attention of a dangerous sort. He considered sending Ron, or Ginny, but discarded that idea for the same reason. There were no teachers nearby to ask for help. There was no one he could send from practice without arousing suspicion. He couldn't reach Hermione or Luna or Neville, because his Chocolate Frog card couldn't communicate with theirs. He was stuck with the information he had, at least until their Potions tutoring session that night.  
  
Potions tutoring.  
  
Snape.  
  
Harry thought he understood, for the first time, why Snape considered Occlumency so vital in his work for the Order.  
  
He also thought, with extreme reluctance, that perhaps Dumbledore was right in respecting Snape's abilities. Even as he forced a grin for Ron's benefit and pulled on his Quidditch robes, he fought the idea that Dumbledore had, once again, been right in his assessment of Snape's contribution to the Order.  
  
This terrifying, crucial knowledge, which Harry knew that he had to hold in through an hours' Quidditch practice and an hour of dinner, and probably the entire hour of tutoring before he could get Alhena alone, was pounding at his brain, needing to get out.  
  
Harry thought that if he had to deal with this kind of thing often, he would go mad. 


	11. Warnings and Wonderings

Chapter 11: Warnings and Wonderings  
  
Harry, mud-covered and mentally exhausted, followed the others into the Entrance Hall after practice. He thought that practice had gone well-no one had been sent to the Hospital Wing, and the Chasers and Beaters seemed to be coordinating things much better. Still, he couldn't remember ever being so tired after an hour-long practice. The strain of keeping his mind clear, as Alhena had taught him, and appearing normal when his every instinct was to rush into the Castle and try to contact Alhena, had him feeling as though he'd just been involved in a marathon rather than a light Quidditch practice.  
  
He was concentrating so deeply on keeping his mind clear so that he could get through dinner and tutoring that he very nearly tripped over Dobby on his way to the marble staircase.  
  
"Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby exclaimed excitedly, his huge green eyes managing to look both ecstatic at seeing Harry and very, very worried at the same time. "Dobby is finding Harry Potter, for giving him a message, sir." Dobby beamed up at Harry. Despite his mental preoccupation, Harry could help but grin down at Dobby. "Harry Potter must come with Dobby, sir." Dobby caught hold of Harry's hand and began dragging him down the hallway. "Very important message for Harry Potter, sir."  
  
Ron and Ginny grinned at Harry, who was even now being pulled down the corridor. Strange as it was that Dobby would have grabbed him in the Entrance Hall and begun pulling him anywhere, Harry wasn't so surprised that he didn't notice that Dobby was heading toward the empty tutoring classroom. "We'll see you at dinner, then, Harry," Ginny said with a laugh. Harry thought fast.  
  
"Only if I can get that Defence essay done," Harry said. Ginny's bright brown eyes narrowed on Harry. Ron's contentedly weary expression sharpened. They nodded at him, and headed up to the Common Room. Harry knew that they would be on their way down to the tutoring classroom, with Luna, Hermione, and Neville, as soon as they could.  
  
As soon as they were inside the empty classroom, Dobby looked up at Harry again and grinned. "Dobby is hearing from Harry Potter's tutor," he said after a look around the classroom to ensure that it was empty. "Dobby is being told to bring Harry Potter here, sir. Dobby is knowing that Harry Potter needs the empty classroom."  
  
"Did Harry Pot-Did Alhena tell you that, Dobby?" Harry asked. It wasn't that he doubted Dobby's motives, but that he had no idea how Alhena might have known that he needed to contact her, and had no idea how Alhena might have gotten hold of Dobby so quickly.  
  
Dobby nodded so hard his head nearly smacked the professor's desk. "Harry Potter's Alhena told Dobby so, sir," he said with a smile. "And Dobby is to make sure no one but Harry Potter's friends come into the room, and to let Harry Potter know if anyone is coming." He looked so earnest and so worried that Harry put a hand on Dobby's shoulder to calm him down.  
  
"Thanks, Dobby," Harry said with a smile. He hadn't intended to take care of this so early, but he would have been lying if he'd said it was anything but a relief to get the horrible knowledge that Alhena and Morrigan were in danger off of his chest.  
  
"And then Harry Potter is to go with Dobby to the Headmaster's office," Dobby added, making Harry start. "Harry Potter's Alhena told Dobby that Harry Potter would need to speak with Professor Dumbledore when he was done. And Professor Dumbledore is waiting for Harry Potter when he is done, sir," Dobby added, and beamed for getting the message right.  
  
Harry grinned and nodded, then looked over as the door to the classroom opened and Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Luna spilled in. Dobby greeted them excitedly, and disappeared with a loud crack, presumably to keep a lookout in the corridor. Hermione Imperturbed the door and windows, and looked at Harry expectantly.  
  
"What's up, Harry? Is it your scar again? You looked funny in the changing room," Ron said in a rush. He was still speckled with mud from practice, and looked even more freckled than usual.  
  
At his words, Hermione and Ginny stared at Harry. Neville and Luna sat down at desks and waited for news. They knew about Harry's scar, of course, but neither of them had the experience with it that the other three did.  
  
Harry nodded. "It's not like last year," he said in a hurry, going through his pockets to find his Chocolate Frog card. "It doesn't hurt as much. That's the Occlumency working, I suppose. But it did hurt, a little, and I heard." he hesitated, panicked a little when he didn't immediately find the card in the inside pocket of his robes, and forced himself to calm down. The second time he looked, he found the card, buttoned securely into the pocket, where he put it every morning. He took it out. "I heard Voldemort," he said, and Ron and Ginny paled, the mud splashes standing out dramatically against their white faces.  
  
"Something's seriously wrong, then," Hermione said, and Harry nodded, grateful for the help. He hadn't known where to start.  
  
"Alhena and Morrigan are in trouble. He knows about them. And he wants them dead," Harry said. The silence in the room was heavy and suddenly tense.  
  
"You'd better get hold of them, then," Hermione said finally, her voice calm.  
  
Because she had sounded so calm, Hermione's words jarred Harry out of his frozen reverie. He picked up the card, and tapped it with his wand. After the red glow, then the golden glow, then his password, he saw Tristan's face pop into the frame. He had to sit down on the professor's desk in his relief. If Alhena had been the one to show up, he didn't know if he could have told her. Somehow, the fact that it was Tristan, who he didn't know very well, made it easier.  
  
"We've got a huge problem, Tristan. Voldemort knows. About Alhena and Morrigan. He wants them dead." Harry waited for some kind of reaction.  
  
Tristan simply nodded, considering for a moment. "Did you hear him say that?" he asked.  
  
"No. Probably I would have last year. But with the Occlumency, it's not as clear. I mean, I heard him say their names, and I.well, I knew what he was thinking. I knew that he wanted them to die. Soon." Harry stopped, at a loss.  
  
Tristan nodded again, and thought some more. "All right. Does Professor Dumbledore know?" he asked.  
  
"I'm supposed to go see him as soon as we're done here. Dobby's keeping watch for us in the hallway, and he's apparently supposed to take me to talk to Professor Dumbledore after this."  
  
"Good. Then why don't you head over to his office, then try and get some dinner. I'll make sure the right people know what's going on, and Alhena will see you at the tutoring session. We'll make sure she gets there safely, and she can take it from there."  
  
Harry wanted to protest that she shouldn't even come to the castle, not if Voldemort was after her, but then he realised that there probably wasn't a safer place she could be. He nodded, then said good-bye to Tristan and put his card away.  
  
"You know, Harry," Luna said in her sing-song voice, "it's a good thing, your Occlumency."  
  
Harry sighed harshly. "If I wasn't doing so well at it, I would have known exactly what Voldemort was planning," he said, frustrated.  
  
"If you weren't doing so well at it," Luna said, looking for all the world as though she was barely paying any attention to anything at all, "Voldemort would know that you know about the fact that he's planning anything at all."  
  
The silence this time was thunderstruck. Harry knew he wasn't the only one trying hard not to stare at Luna as though noticing her for the first time. Any questions he might have had about Luna being sorted into Ravenclaw had just disappeared entirely.  
  
"You're right," he said, and smiled for the first time in hours.  
  
She smiled back at him vaguely, then began humming to herself as she wandered over to the windows.  
  
"We've got to talk about this," Hermione said, still watching Luna like a zoologist who had suddenly discovered a new species of animal she wanted to study. "But where are we going to manage that, and how?"  
  
"Well, there's always the Room of Requirements, isn't there?" Neville asked.  
  
They all stared at him.  
  
Harry grinned.  
  
*  
  
Professor McGonagall was waiting at the base of the curving staircase leading to Dumbledore's office. She thanked Dobby, who beamed up at her and disappeared with a noisy crack. With a sigh, Professor McGonagall spoke the password-"Bertie Bott's Every-Flavoured Beans"-and the door to the staircase opened. Professor McGonagall led Harry onto the staircase and turned to face him as the stairs began to move. "It's all right, Potter," she said kindly. "You've handled this well."  
  
She turned around, and neither of them spoke until they entered Dumbledore's office, but Harry felt his tension subside. This was all so much different than this past June, when he'd seen Sirius being tortured, that he could barely contain his sudden relief. As if she sensed this, Professor McGonagall turned to him as they were walking through the heavy wooden door leading to the Headmaster's office, and smiled again. "It will be all right, Harry. We're already acting on everything you told Tristan, and Alhena and Morrigan won't be alone until a plan is in place." Seeming suddenly to think that she had perhaps said more than she should have, Professor McGonagall closed her mouth and let Harry walk past her into the office.  
  
Professor Dumbledore, looking uncharacteristically solemn, looked at Harry closely as Harry sat down in one of the two chairs before the big wooden desk. The silver instruments on the desktop winked and glittered, reflecting white light like a dozen miniature moons. Harry glanced at them, then looked up at Professor Dumbledore.  
  
Dumbledore had lost his serious expression and was smiling at Harry. "This is one time I don't have to ask you if there's anything you'd like to tell me," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes twinkling almost merrily. Harry was startled into a little laugh. Even Professor McGonagall smiled.  
  
"I guess you already know what's going on," Harry said with a sort of shrug. "My scar started hurting when we were in the changing room, right before practice. And I heard Voldemort's voice in my head, saying Morrigan's name, and Alhena's. That was all I heard, but it was distant. And I'm not sure how I knew, but I knew he wanted them dead."  
  
"Did your scar hurt like it did last year?" Dumbledore asked, with what sounded like no more than polite curiosity.  
  
"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "It was minor. And it didn't last long, even though I knew he was really, really angry."  
  
"Your Occlumency lessons are coming along well then," Dumbledore concluded with an approving nod.  
  
"Good thing, too," Harry said dismally, without realising he was speaking out loud. "Since they're ending now." From his perch beside Dumbledore's desk, Fawkes gave a soft, sympathetic squawk. Harry looked up and smiled at Fawkes.  
  
"Oh, I wouldn't be too sure of that," Dumbledore said with a little laugh. "You see, Harry, when one knows that one has powerful enemies, it benefits one to do a bit of advance planning. There are no plans to cancel any tutoring or any lessons for the foreseeable future." He smiled at Harry's astonishment, then went on. "Well, it may seem a surprise to you, Harry- you and your friends. However, we have the dubious benefit of having lived through the previous War. We know the risks we are running, and we know that even the best-laid plans may be forced to change."  
  
"Will Alhena be staying inside the Castle, then?" Harry asked, brightening.  
  
"We had considered it," Dumbledore said with a nod. "However, she feels, and I happen to agree, that if Voldemort is truly after her, it is far too risky for her to remain here at Hogwarts. She would be a target, Harry, and while that doesn't seem to bother her for her own sake, it bothers her greatly that she would be endangering you, your friends, and all the students here. So she'll be leaving, but someone equally well-qualified will be replacing her."  
  
Harry sighed. "And Morrigan?" he asked. Fawkes made another soft noise. Harry didn't notice.  
  
Dumbledore's eyes gleamed again, with something Harry thought might be amusement. On second thought, he decided he must have been wrong; it simply wasn't an amusing situation at all.  
  
"Morrigan will be leaving as well. Neither of them will be near the school, because they share the same ideas about endangering any of you. But it won't be difficult to get in touch with them-you'll have the same means of communicating with them that you have now."  
  
Harry nodded. It was good to know that even though things were going to change, they wouldn't change as much as he had feared. He drummed his fingers on his thighs nervously; he had no idea what to say next.  
  
"Well, I don't want to keep you from having any dinner," Dumbledore said, smiling. "I just thought, in view of last year, that we should all know what we're doing. I know it isn't easy for any of you, getting the smallest amount of information of all of us." It was, Harry thought, the first time anyone had referred to himself and his friends as part of the group fighting Voldemort. Coming now, Dumbledore's use of the word 'us' was strangely comforting. Dumbledore stood up, and Harry and Professor McGonagall did the same. They walked with him to the door, then turned back as the stairs began moving downward.  
  
Harry heard their voices, low and businesslike, as he was taken down the stairs, and felt reassured. He and his friends weren't alone in dealing with this.  
  
*  
  
A quick dinner, a shower, and a tutoring session later, Harry and the others sat at their desks in the tutoring classroom. Alhena sat cross- legged on the professor's desk, and watched them solemnly. She had already Imperturbed the doors and windows against eavesdroppers. They all seemed to be waiting for someone to speak. It wasn't long before Hermione started things off.  
  
"You have to leave, then?" she asked, impatiently brushing her long brown hair out of her face.  
  
"I do," Alhena said with a nod. "Though thanks to you lot it's going to be far easier and far safer than it might have been otherwise."  
  
They all grinned at her, and Ron spoke up. "So where are you going?" he asked.  
  
"I'm not sure, really," she replied with a shrug. Something about that shrug struck a chord in Harry's mind. He'd seen it before. He'd seen someone shrug just like that before. "I suppose that we'll figure out something tonight," Alhena continued. "But in any event, you'll still be able to reach me in the usual way. No snowy white owls, no matter how beautiful," she added. Harry grinned, but his mind was still stuck on that shrug.  
  
"Someone will be keeping up the tutoring, then?" Ginny asked. It was clear from her glum expression that she didn't care much either way but felt she needed to keep the conversation going.  
  
Alhena nodded. "Starting Monday, I believe. I think that was the next scheduled session, right?" They nodded.  
  
"So if we need to get hold of someone," Neville began.  
  
"You should think locally," Alhena said with a smile. "Unless it's an emergency, you should try for Tris, or Fred and George, first. At least for the moment. We'll let you know when it's safe to do anything else."  
  
"You know," Ginny said conversationally, her brown eyes flaring, "let's just cut to the chase here. How could anyone have found out about you or Morrigan, what with all the Secrecy Charms and Fidelius Charms and whatnot floating around here?"  
  
Alhena's eyes sparked with the first real amusement she had shown since the classroom door had closed on the other students. "Right. Well, we're working on that, aren't we?" she asked wryly.  
  
"Since we're cutting to the chase, hasn't this masquerade gone on long enough?" Hermione said. Her tone was vaguely challenging. Harry had barely processed what Hermione had said when Alhena began to laugh.  
  
"I'm sorry," she said. "It's not funny, I know that. But I really must be slipping. Almost everyone figured it out."  
  
Neville shrugged. "You showed up the same day Morrigan left, didn't you?" he asked.  
  
"And you know all the same things she did," Hermione added.  
  
"And you went to her same school, and you know all the same people," Ginny put in.  
  
Ron looked astounded. "You're Morrigan?" he asked.  
  
Harry, shocked, stared at her. "You're Morrigan?" he repeated, and then it clicked. "You're Morrigan," he said. "The Occlumency lessons. It felt the same as when Morrigan was teaching me."  
  
She nodded. "I know it was a crappy thing to do," Alhena-Morrigan said with a sigh. "But we wanted to help, Professor Dumbledore needed us, and we didn't want to leave you alone here."  
  
Harry looked at her, warring impulses stilling his tongue for a moment. He was angry; he couldn't help being angry at being deceived once again. Still, he was relieved that Morrigan had gotten the message, and absurdly touched that she had cared enough about him to go through this elaborate charade. He gave her a lopsided grin that grew as relief won out over anger. When it came down to life and death, his sense of being deceived in such a minor way wasn't particularly important.  
  
"Well, it'll make getting the message to Morrigan a lot easier, won't it?" he asked, and she smiled. In a moment, she had changed from brown-haired, brown-eyed, mousy little Alhena Farrell to tall, copper-haired, green-eyed Morrigan Carrick.  
  
"Oh, that's nice," Ron said, after an admiring whistle. Neville and Ginny grinned. Luna laughed.  
  
"It was your name," Luna told Morrigan dreamily, and got an interested grin in return. "Alhena. One of the stars of the Gemini. The Twins," Luna sing-songed, then laughed again. Morrigan joined her.  
  
"And you were way too interested in Quidditch to be a mousy little tutor," Ron said with a snort of laughter that had Morrigan grinning.  
  
A soft chiming noise interrupted their laughter, and had Morrigan looking down at her pendant. "That's Tris. I've got to go," Morrigan said softly, her smile disappearing. "We've got a lot to work out tonight. But before I go," she said, and they looked at her expectantly. "I'm not sure if you're all aware of it, but there's a Slytherin Potions tutoring session as well. The next tutor isn't going to have time to have two different sessions. So it would be good if you'd make sure they didn't feel unwelcome," she said.  
  
At everyone's expressions, she sighed. "I know it won't be easy for you, given how you all feel about Slytherins. But do you realise that you're all in this together? It's not just tutoring sessions and Quidditch matches, you know. It's larger than anything that happens at this school. If you don't understand the importance of allies in strange places, perhaps it's time you started considering it."  
  
"Right. I'll just walk right over to them and invite them in," Harry said sarcastically. "That would work."  
  
"That would be the worst possible thing, Harry. I think they'd need to work up to you," Morrigan said with a grin. "Ron's just about as likely, now he's stopped being their King and all," she added, making Ron snort with laughter yet again.  
  
"Well, Hermione's too smart for them, and Ginny's too good a Seeker and Chaser."  
  
"And they don't like me at all," Luna said mistily, as though it couldn't have been less important to her. None of them had any doubt on that score.  
  
"So how would it ever work?" Hermione asked.  
  
"Well, I think it's high time Mr. Longbottom stepped up to bat," Morrigan said, and they all turned to stare at Neville.  
  
He turned bright red. "Me? I'm nobody," he protested, staring at Morrigan, half-panicked.  
  
"Neville," Morrigan said with a sigh, "it's high time you began to give yourself some kind of credit for what you've done." He looked uncertain, and Morrigan laughed softly. "Did anyone take your O.W.L.s for you?" she asked.  
  
"No, that was me," Neville replied.  
  
"Did anyone stand in for you at the Ministry, or was that you back in June?"  
  
"It was me," Neville responded.  
  
"Really?" she asked as though she didn't believe it.  
  
"Yes," Neville said, a little more emphatically than he had before.  
  
"Then start believing it, Neville. And start believing in yourself." She raised an eyebrow at him, and he turned beet-red.  
  
Harry heard Neville mumble, "But starting with the Slytherins," under his breath, and had to bite his lip against a grin.  
  
"Of course, you'll all be backing Neville up. No one is unwelcome at any of the sessions, right?" Morrigan asked, and each of them nodded. "Good. That's a start."  
  
They still looked uncertain. "Well, it's hard to figure out where to begin with the Slytherins," Ginny said reflectively.  
  
"Well, it all depends on your point of view," Morrigan replied. "You had Care of Magical Creatures with them last year, didn't you?" she asked.  
  
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville nodded.  
  
"Who saw the Thestrals?" she asked, and Neville's eyes took on a thoughtful sparkle.  
  
"Right, well, that should be a start," she said again. "I've got to run, or I'll mess up all these neatly laid plans."  
  
They all stood up, and she gave each one of them a hug-first Luna, then Neville, and Ginny, Ron, and Hermione. When she got to Harry, she hesitated for a moment, and Harry realised that she was afraid he would turn away. He smiled and took a step toward her.  
  
It was one of the best hugs of his entire life. Harry thought hard at her, and he thought he heard her respond inside his head. When it was over, Harry watched in surprise as she gave them all a wink and disappeared from the room.  
  
"Hey, Hermione," Ron said after a moment of shocked silence, "I thought you couldn't Apparate or Disapparate inside Hogwarts."  
  
*  
  
Morrigan appeared inside Tristan's living room and found Tristan sitting in the corner, talking with Fred and George, who were sitting on the sofa. Remus Lupin, sitting in an armchair beside the fire, turned around and smiled at her when she appeared just inside the doorway.  
  
"Remus, I thought you'd be working," Morrigan said with a smile, and Remus laughed.  
  
"My boss gave me the night off," Lupin said with a grin. Fred and George shared a look, and decided that Remus' boss was probably the same as their own silent partner in Hogsmeade. A barely perceptible lift of Tristan's eyebrow when they looked at him confirmed it. The Carricks, it seemed, had their fingers in any number of pies at any given time.  
  
"So things are set at the Castle?" Tristan asked, and Morrigan nodded. She walked over to the hearth and took a cigarette out of Tristan's pack, then lit it by pointing a finger at it, gunslinger style. Lupin laughed again.  
  
"Right. Enough of the funny stuff," Remus said after a moment. He cast a Silencing Charm and the serious discussion began. "First of all, Albus wants us to meet him at Grimmauld Place this evening, at half-past ten. So we have a bit of time to do some talking.  
  
"Grimmauld Place?" Morrigan asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Right. Mum and Dad and the rest of them are all out tonight. So it'll be just us," Fred said. "Dumbledore didn't want anyone to overhear."  
  
George snorted. "He didn't want anyone to cause a fuss, is more like it," he countered. Morrigan hated to admit it, but George was probably more correct.  
  
Tristan, leaning against the wall in the corner, sighed. "Any word on where you're going?" he asked.  
  
"I doubt it'll be public knowledge, at any rate," Morrigan said with a shrug. "I'm sure that Dumbledore has a plan. I'm also sure that I'll be the only one hearing about it, and only right before I leave."  
  
Lupin nodded. "That sounds right," he said after a moment's silent consideration. He looked at her closely. "So. How do you think they found out? And how much do you think they found out?"  
  
Morrigan sighed and tapped ash into the purple spider that served as Tristan's ashtray, wondering momentarily at Tris' sense of humor. Then she looked at Lupin squarely and said simply, "I've no idea." She thought for a moment, and added, "at least, I don't know yet." Lupin remained silent, seeming to sense that she was merely choosing her words before going on.  
  
"There's one thing we know for certain," Tristan said, and his black eyes gleamed dangerously for a moment, then he grinned almost reluctantly. "No one could have told. We tried a little experiment, Nicholas and I both, with Lee. We started talking, but other words came out."  
  
Morrigan couldn't contain her snort of laughter. "Lee probably thinks you're both mad," she said.  
  
Lupin looked questioningly at them both.  
  
Tristan grinned. "Right. Well, you've got to picture it, really," he said, picking up a decidedly disreputable-looking picture frame off of a shelf. His long fingers turned it around and he examined it as though seeing it for the first time before setting it back down and looking up at Lupin. "We go into the shop and pull Lee aside-separately, mind you, so it happens twice in about twenty minutes-and start talking to him, all seriously. And what comes out of our mouths is 'The Jabberwocky's Tale'."  
  
Fred and George howled with laughter. Lupin grinned. Morrigan did her best to keep a straight face, but couldn't quite manage it.  
  
"So there's no telling anyone flat-out, not even someone in the Order," Lupin concluded, and Morrigan and Tristan nodded.  
  
"And anyone who overhears anything we talk about forgets it within minutes," Morrigan said. "We've tested that as well. The Silencing Charms and Imperturbable Charms are strictly window-dressing. The Secrecy Charm works to take care of eavesdroppers."  
  
They all thought for a moment, then George spoke up. "Well, if no one could tell, and no one could overhear, then someone's doing some mind- reading, aren't they?" he asked, but it was clear that he wasn't entirely joking.  
  
Morrigan considered that, and nodded slowly. "That might be it, George. Not mind-reading, exactly, of course. There's no such thing. But if one of us is around someone who can pick up emotions and images." She broke off, considering. "I'm tempted to think that it's Whiting."  
  
"Not likely," Lupin countered. "He wouldn't have gone to Voldemort. He would have killed you himself, as soon as he got an idea that you were still working for the Order."  
  
"But he's a Legilimens," Morrigan pointed out.  
  
"And you can pick up his thoughts as easily as he can pick up what he thinks are your thoughts," Lupin argued. "Honestly, Morrigan. He doesn't know that you get more information from him than he's ever dreamed he could get from you. He doesn't know that you can even read him at all, so he doesn't hide his emotions from you. You'd have known long ago if he had discovered anything about the junior Order."  
  
She sighed. "You're right. I'd almost have preferred it that way, though. Easier to trace."  
  
"Well, nothing's easy today, then," Fred said with finality. "So, we've got to figure out where the leak is. It's easier, thinking it's not someone blabbing on purpose, anyway."  
  
Morrigan nodded. "Easier to accept, anyway. A bit trickier to figure out how the information is getting out."  
  
"Charlie was the only one who didn't know you were Alhena," George said reluctantly.  
  
"That makes the timing awfully coincidental, don't you think?" Morrigan asked. "At the moment, we can't really rule much out. But we'll have a stronger idea tomorrow."  
  
Tristan looked at her. "The plan's on, then?"  
  
Morrigan shrugged. "We're no good to Harry or anyone else unless we find the leak and plug it," she said simply.  
  
"What's the plan?" Fred asked, leaning forward.  
  
Lupin said, with dawning realization, "You're going to plant a few seeds and see where they sprout."  
  
Tristan nodded. "We'll spread a little disinformation, and see what pans out. We'll go one by one, and see what pops up."  
  
"And once we find out what's been going on, I'll tighten the Charm to make sure it doesn't happen again," Morrigan said, with a disgusted sigh. "This never occurred to me. I should have thought about it."  
  
"We all should have," Lupin said, and the others nodded. "This is a team effort, isn't it?"  
  
"Looks like it's about time to head out to Grimmauld Place," Tristan said, after a quick look at his watch. A loud pop announced someone Apparating into the entry. They all looked toward the doorway, and a moment later, Bill showed up, looking extremely harried.  
  
"Morrigan. Do you have a moment?" he asked, and she nodded.  
  
"I'll meet up with you later," she told the others, and they nodded, then Disapparated.  
  
*  
  
Bill sat down on the sofa in Tristan's living room, and Morrigan sat beside him.  
  
"I suppose you've heard," he told her, and she nodded. "Do you have any idea who.?"  
  
She shook her head. She suddenly looked absolutely devastated. Defeated. Before he even thought, he had pulled her into his arms, and simply held her while she cried. She didn't cry loudly, or messily, but with silent, steady sobs that were somehow worse than wails would have been. He stroked her hair, sighing. It seemed like every time that things began going well, they fell apart again.  
  
Later, he couldn't have said what had possessed him to kiss her. Later, he was too distracted to care. All he knew was that one second he was holding her while she cried, and the next he was kissing her as though he would die if he ever stopped. She was light in his arms, and suddenly kissing him back as though her life depended on it. The feel of her against him was driving him mad. Even that short taste of her was enough for him to know that he was ruined for other women.  
  
She finally dragged her lips away from his and rested her head on his shoulder. Her laugh was shaky, but certain. He smiled and rested his chin on top of her head for a moment. He could feel her relaxing against him, and he gave her a little squeeze before loosened his arms around her.  
  
He ran his fingers through his hair and tried to remember what he'd come to discuss with her. It had completely fled his mind. He could barely remember his name, let alone whatever it was he had thought important enough to leave Charlie's place and hurry here as though he was being pursued. Slowly, it came back to him, and as it did, he laughed softly.  
  
She looked at him questioningly. He grinned at her, and pulled her close again so that she was curled up against his chest.  
  
"I forgot all about the reason I came over to talk to you. How did they find out, where are you going, and what can I do?"  
  
She smiled up at him. "We don't know how they find out, but we have a good idea."  
  
"You don't think someone told them?" he asked, horrified.  
  
"Not intentionally," she said softly. "The Charm would prevent that, in any case. It was tested, just after we found out. It still holds. The best theory we could come up with on the information we have is that someone's been-well, I suppose the best way to describe it is that someone's skimming information off the top of one of our minds."  
  
It was an uncomfortable subject at best. Still, Morrigan was completely unprepared for his reaction. He was up off the sofa in less time that it took her to realise it, staring down at her furiously.  
  
"Are you mad?" he asked, his blue eyes going hard and strange. This, she had time to think, was not the same man she'd just been kissing on the sofa. There was no gentleness in the Wizard standing before her. "If you don't trust us, you could just call the whole thing off."  
  
"I trust all of you with my life," she protested, truthfully. "I already have." And she would again, in an instant.  
  
"You think you're so smart," he sneered, his eyes flaring bright with some emotion between contempt and hatred. "In charge of it all, always have the solutions. But you don't trust us worth a damn. You sit there and all but accuse us of spilling everyone's secrets, when it was probably you. You and your Death Eater friends." He looked at her, completely furious, and his eyes raked across her so hard that for a moment she imagined welts rising.  
  
Cursing under his breath at her, he Disapparated.  
  
She sat there on the sofa, shocked and utterly unable to process what had just happened. His reaction had been horrible, but she could have dealt with it, from almost anyone else. The fact that it had been Bill somehow destroyed whatever small bit of composure she'd had left. The contempt on his face.  
  
She shivered. She couldn't seem to get warm. She'd never felt so terribly cold in her life. So terribly alone.  
  
When the tears started, she was powerless to stop them. She simply sat on the sofa in Tristan's darkened living room, rocking back and forth as she cried.  
  
She lost all track of time. She lost track of everything. If Tristan hadn't come back to find out what was keeping her, she thought that she might have sat there all night. When Tristan's arm slid around her shoulders and pulled her close, she lost control entirely, and very nearly got hysterical. She heard him, as though through a long, dark tunnel, speaking a spell, and felt herself calming.  
  
Eventually, completely embarrassed, she looked up at him. "Bill. I think it was Bill," she managed, and even Tristan's Calming Charm barely kept her from breaking down again. "I think someone's reading him. Reading him, and working a Memory Charm. He.he asked about what we all thought, and when I told him, he got furious." She took a deep breath, still shaking, and closed her eyes. She didn't want to remember the expression on Bill's face when he'd looked at her, but she couldn't seem to get it out of her head.  
  
"What did he say, Mor?" Tristan asked gently. He hated to ask her. She'd been through enough today without this, but it had to be done. If they didn't discuss it now, he wasn't sure when they would manage it safely. But he regretted the necessity deeply. He knew damned well how panicked she'd been when the news had come that she was being hunted.  
  
She hadn't shown it. He had known her too long to believe that she would ever show fear. Her father had taught her too well, too early, that showing fear was the same as handing someone a weapon to use against you. Still, Tristan knew her far too well not to recognise the signs-the constant moving around, the fingers drumming on countertops or tables or her thighs, the way she'd kept twisting her hair around her fingers.  
  
"He said that I thought I was so smart, that I was in charge of things, that I had all the solutions," she said. Tristan winced; her voice was toneless and devoid of emotion. If he'd had any doubts about how much Bill Weasley's opinion meant to her, they disappeared as soon as Tristan heard her speak. "And he said I didn't trust anyone, that I was all but accusing everyone of spilling all sorts of secrets when it was probably me and my Death Eater friends." She took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly.  
  
She looked up at Tristan, and even in the half-light he could see that her eyes were dry, a flat, dead green. His heart broke for her. He hugged her again, and wished he could pound Bill Weasley into the ground. Even knowing it wouldn't have done any good, even knowing it hadn't been Bill's fault, Tristan would have loved to go a few rounds with Bill. Even if it wouldn't help matters, it would make Tristan feel one hell of a lot better.  
  
He was still wishing for the opportunity when he and Morrigan Apparated to Grimmauld Place.  
  
*  
  
Harry stopped by the Portrait Hole and pulled out the Maurauder's Map. The seventh-floor corridors were empty of Filch, Mrs. Norris, and faculty members. That was good enough for him, he decided, and gave the back of the Fat Lady's portrait a push. It swung open, revealing the corridor, dimly lit by torchlight. He hurried out the door, followed by Ron and Neville. Ginny and Hermione, both small enough to fit under the Invisibility Cloak together, followed after them. In no time at all, they were walking past the spot in the corridor that marked the as-yet invisible door to the Room of Requirement.  
  
On their third pass, the door appeared in the wall, as it always had, and Harry grabbed the handle and opened it. Luna was already sitting inside, on a cushion on the gleaming wooden floor. A dim blue fire burned in a jar in front of her.  
  
"I used your spell," she told Hermione dreamily, "and it worked perfectly."  
  
Hermione looked flattered, and smiled as Harry shut the door behind them. Hermione Imperturbed the door and cast a Silencing Charm. They all sat around the dim blue fire, and looked at each other, waiting for someone to start.  
  
"How could they have found out?" Ginny finally burst out. "And do they know that Alhena and Morrigan are the same person?"  
  
"I don't think so," Harry said after a moments' hard thought. "It felt like he was thinking about two different people." He thought a moment longer, and nodded. "But how they found out, I don't know."  
  
"Well, do we really think that this Secrecy Charm can do what it's supposed to do?" Neville asked. "I mean, is it good enough to keep anyone from telling what they know?"  
  
"I think it is," Hermione said, and they all looked at her, surprised. It wasn't exactly common for Hermione to believe in anything she couldn't find in a book. And she'd searched through quite a few books to find a Secrecy Charm, but hadn't found a single mention of it. "Well, I know I couldn't find it in any of the books I looked in," she said, a touch defensively. "But Professor Dumbledore believes it's good enough."  
  
Ginny nodded. "And if it's the same kind of Charm that kept anyone from finding out about your family, Harry, it must be awfully powerful."  
  
Harry considered that, and nodded. "So if the Charm works, how did anyone find out?"  
  
"Legilimency, or something like it," Luna said dreamily. She'd obviously given the matter quite a bit of thought. "It's really the only way anyone could find out, if the Charm really works."  
  
Ron considered that, and shrugged. "Well, here's hoping they'll fix that up, right?"  
  
"Who could it be, though?" Ginny asked reflectively.  
  
"I don't know that there's any way to tell, from our side of the fence," Harry said after a moment's thought. "I mean, we don't even know how many people any of them see in any given day, much less who those people are."  
  
"You're right," Hermione said decisively. "You're absolutely right, Harry, and we shouldn't even be worrying about that. What we need to worry about is whether the leak came from inside the Castle. From one of us."  
  
They all stared at her, appalled. Even Luna came out of her dreamy reflections to gape at Hermione, in a most un-Luna-like fashion.  
  
"Well," Ron asked, recovering a bit, "how do we figure that out? I mean, how do we know who's giving information to people outside the school?"  
  
"Who said they have to be outside the school?" Neville said with dark humor. "I mean, it could be anyone, couldn't it?"  
  
"That's exactly right, Neville," Hermione agreed.  
  
"Then how are we supposed to find out?" Ron asked, frowning.  
  
"Well, I thought that Harry could help us out with that," Hermione said. "He could tell us what it's like to have someone looking inside your head, couldn't he?"  
  
They all looked at Harry expectantly.  
  
With a sigh, he began to tell them.  
  
*  
  
The kitchen at Grimmauld Place hadn't changed at all in the month or so since Morrigan had been there. She took a seat at the table between Fred and George, and across from Tristan and Lupin. Malcolm arrived next, and sat beside Tristan. After five minutes, Morrigan stood up and headed over the window for a cigarette. Fred, George, and Malcolm joined her. Fred lit her cigarette, frowning; her fingers were trembling finely, and she couldn't seem to hold them steady.  
  
When Morrigan turned to look out the window, the twins looked at Malcolm, who shrugged. The three of them looked at Tristan, whose face suggested that he knew the reason behind her nerves. They were still working out the equation that began with Bill's appearance at Tristan's house and ended in Morrigan shaking like a leaf when they heard the front door locks turning upstairs. Everyone turned to face the kitchen door. Albus Dumbledore walked into the kitchen, beaming at them all. They all smiled back, unable to resist.  
  
"Well, I must say, it's certainly good to see you all here despite the circumstances," Dumbledore said with a smile, and took a seat at the table. "I take it Harry is now aware of the.er, masquerade?" Dumbledore asked Morrigan.  
  
Morrigan grinned, but it took an obvious effort. "He is. I don't think he was particularly happy about it, not entirely anyway, but he's all right with it now."  
  
Dumbledore's nod gave Morrigan the impression that he'd already known. He gave her a tiny, encouraging wink, his blue eyes sparkling with sympathy, then turned to the others. She used the time to get hold of herself.  
  
"I suppose we're at a stage where there are more questions than answers," Dumbledore said with a heavy sigh.  
  
"You're right," Morrigan agreed, "but we're already working on getting the answers we need. Tristan's already started things in motion," Morrigan said. It was as much as she could say, given the Secrecy Charm. Even without the Charm, the memory of Bill's sneer would have kept her from saying too much more. Nevertheless, what she had said was enough to satisfy Albus Dumbledore, and that was good enough for everyone else.  
  
"We'll keep each other informed," Dumbledore said, and Morrigan nodded agreement.  
  
"Well, I'm assuming we won't be told where Mor is going," Malcolm said, raising his eyebrows at Dumbledore, who smiled gently and nodded.  
  
"Certainly not until our little security problem is fixed," Dumbledore replied. "It's too much of a risk. There are too many people looking for her. I've received information to the effect that Death Eaters are out in force as we speak. It's simply not safe for anyone but Morrigan to know where she is going to be for the moment."  
  
Malcolm, Fred, George, and Lupin paled at the knowledge that the hunt for Morrigan was already on. Tristan and Morrigan, who had already known this, had no reaction-none except for the dangerous gleam that returned to Tristan's eyes.  
  
"We'll still be able to contact you the same way, right?" George asked, smiling gamely at Morrigan.  
  
She smiled back. "Right. Just you five, Harry and the others, and Professor Dumbledore, though."  
  
"Well, that's something," George muttered, and Morrigan felt the corners of her mouth quirk up the tiniest bit. "Do-"  
  
"Enough of the small talk," Fred broke in. "What the hell happened at Tristan's house after we left?"  
  
She smiled weakly. She didn't know how to begin. Dumbledore saved her from having to try.  
  
"The hour's getting late, Morrigan," he said kindly. "You'd better be going. You'll find that Malcolm left your things upstairs. You'll find instructions with them," he said. Nodding, she stubbed out her cigarette, half-smoked, and everyone who wasn't yet standing did so.  
  
"Be careful, will you?" Tristan asked, and hugged her tight. He whispered something in her ear that had her nodding vehemently, then let her go.  
  
"Let us know you've gotten where you're going safely," Lupin said. He smiled his warm, calm smile at her, but his eyes were worried. She smiled back, and hugged him. He hugged back hesitantly at first, as though it had been so long that he had forgotten how, then almost fiercely. As though he were losing his best friend. When he let her go, both their eyes were overbright.  
  
Dumbledore, next in line, gave her a hearty hug and pinched her cheek. She gave a shaky little laugh, and hugged him again before moving on to the twins.  
  
"Have a safe trip, Mor," Fred said miserably.  
  
"Yeah. Have a safe trip," George echoed dismally.  
  
"Come on, you guys, it's not like I'm going to disappear forever," she said with a laugh, stronger this time, and they did their best to grin at her, then hugged her, one from each side, hard enough to make her ribs creak. She ruffled their hair and they turned pink, half-embarrassed and half- pleased. "I'll be in touch," she said quickly, and left the kitchen with Malcolm before she lost her composure entirely.  
  
*  
  
They went up the staircase silently, and their silence was comfortable. Neither of them needed words to know what the other was feeling. They were worried, and they were sad, and they were relieved that there had been enough warning to prevent a disaster. They were confident that they would find a way through this, and they were determined that they would do their part to help protect Harry and win the fight, whatever the cost.  
  
"It was Bill?" Malcolm asked softly at the top of the staircase.  
  
"It was Bill," Morrigan said, just as softly, as they made their way to the parlour. "And I think they might have used some kind of Memory Charm on him. He went berserk."  
  
"So I gathered," Malcolm said drily, and Morrigan felt the corners of her mouth quirking up again.  
  
"Tristan knows. He can tell you in more detail," she added. "But do me a favor, Mal?"  
  
"Sure, whatever," he said, picking up the backpack he'd brought from her flat. He'd charmed it to hold far more than it should have been able to, and to lighten it enough for her to carry it easily.  
  
"Make sure they know I didn't think that they were-"  
  
"They know, Mor," Malcolm said gently. "So does he," he added in a near- whisper.  
  
She smiled up at him as she took the backpack. Her eyes were overbright again, and she was about to lose the battle with tears. He hugged her tight, because he had no words. She hugged him back, just as tight, because she couldn't have spoken even if she could have found any words.  
  
She was just about to leave when Malcolm put a hand on her shoulder.  
  
She looked back in the gloomy half-light of the parlour, and the dull glow of the streetlamp outside coloured her hair with flame. Her eyes questioned him, because she didn't trust her voice.  
  
"How well do you know Remus Lupin?" he asked, managing to grin.  
  
His reward was her laughter, soft but genuine, which floated on the still air even after she had gone. 


	12. Learning Curves

Chapter 12: Learning Curves  
  
Harry sat in the nearly-empty Common Room on Thursday afternoon, doodling on a half-empty page of Care of Magical Creatures notes. Ron and Neville were in the Library, searching out information on the important magical fire that, at least so far, had proved elusive. Hermione was in Arithmancy class, and Harry thought that Ginny was in Defence Against the Dark Arts. He had decided to sit alone in the Common Room in hopes of finish his Care of Magical Creatures essay.  
  
Hagrid, Harry mused, would never lose his affection for creatures which the rest of the world considered highly dangerous. Their essay was on the Lethifold. The rest of the wizarding world considered Lethifolds killers. Hagrid had begun to show a rather ominous attraction to them. The essay, which Harry had only just completed, was titled, "The Lethifold Does Not Deserve Its 'Most Dangerous' Ministry Rating. Discuss."  
  
The mere thought of Lethifolds, gliding blackly through darkness to cover and suffocate their prey, was enough to make Harry shiver. They were too much like Dementors for his taste. Harry wanted nothing to do with anything dark that went around gliding through the night, not so much as a black Puffskein on a skateboard. No matter how good a friend Hagrid was, he would never cure Harry of that particular prejudice.  
  
Harry saw that the ink on his essay was dry, and slid the roll of parchment back into his bag. He supposed he should be getting some other homework done, but he couldn't bring himself to take out his books. He was done with classes for the day, and he decided that he would start working again when Hermione returned to the Common Room. He'd already accomplished a lot today; that would be soon enough to continue working. For the moment, he just wanted some time alone to think.  
  
He'd found himself thinking more and more often over the last few days about Sirius. He supposed hearing that Morrigan was being hunted by Death Eaters had brought it all back to him. He knew that she was safely hidden away; he and the others had gotten a message from her on Sunday morning, saying that she had arrived and that she was safe. The message had not said where she was. The arrival of that message hadn't stopped Harry's thoughts from whirling around and around, from Sirius to Morrigan and back again.  
  
Somehow, the worst of it was that she was the only one he could think of to ask about Sirius, and she wasn't accessible. The last thing he wanted to do was to endanger her by contacting her. He certainly wasn't about to put her in danger only to ask her questions that he didn't really need answers to. Even if it seemed as though questions seemed to multiply inside his head by the hour, especially since he'd decided he wasn't going to get in touch with Morrigan to ask them. The number of things he wanted to learn from her seemed to increase exponentially with the realisation that he could not bring them up at all.  
  
With a sigh, he headed up to his dormitory to put away his Care of Magical Creatures books and get his Charms book, to do some reviewing before Hermione arrived. He'd promised her that they could begin working on the Charms essay they had been assigned that morning. He tossed his copy of The Monster Book of Monsters on his bed and bent down to go through his cupboard in search of his Charms textbook, which seemed to always be at the farthest point from where he wanted it at any given time.  
  
Harry saw the book, finally, in the far corner of his cupboard, and reached in for it. His fingers found a smaller, unfamiliar book just to the right of the Charms book, and he pulled both of them out. He looked down, saw that the smaller book was a photo album of sorts, and recognised Morrigan's excessively neat handwriting on the cover. A shiver ran down his spine but he threw the album, along with his Charms book, into his bag and headed back down to the Common Room. He was fairly sure that Morrigan wouldn't have given him anything that he couldn't let anyone else see him with. Knowing her, he thought that the album was likely to be doubly safe, since it had been placed in his cupboard. Everyone in the Tower had access to it when he was gone during the day.  
  
Harry saw an empty table near the window. The sunshine pouring in the window onto the table made it by far the most attractive study spot in the Common Room. He set his bag down on one empty chair, his robes on another, and his feet on the third extra chair. Considering, he went and dragged over another chair. He would have brought two, but Ginny had another lesson before dinner.  
  
As he was about to sit down, he thought of the photo album again. Almost without thinking, he went into his bag and pulled it out. He inspected the outside carefully. Made of heavy black cardboard, held together with the same scarlet-and-gold ribbon that tied the cover closed, the album cover was blank but for Harry's name, in gold, in the bottom right-hand corner. He untied the ribbon and opened the cover. A piece of parchment slid out.  
  
Harry picked up the parchment, and recognised the handwriting, in green ink, as Morrigan's. He sat down in the chair he'd left empty and began to read.  
  
Harry,  
I guess this just goes to show that you never know the true value  
of a good Banishing Spell until you're on the run. Otherwise,  
Merlin only knows how we'd have gotten this to you safely. These  
are some photos Malcolm and I found in the attics of a certain house  
we all know. I don't think that any of the people in them would  
object to  
your having them now. If anyone's entitled to a few good memories  
of those people, it's you. Mal and I messed around with them a bit,  
so don't be surprised if they seem different than other Wizarding  
photos you've seen.  
  
You don't have many people around to ask questions of, and  
I have no doubt that you have more questions than you have answers  
about the past. There's nothing particularly secret about these,  
though  
I wouldn't advise leaving them lying around for anyone to get into.  
The album is Charmed to recognise you, and won't open for anyone  
else—at least, not as itself. Still, better safe than sorry these  
days.  
  
I'm sorry I couldn't stick around longer. It was wonderful to be with  
all of you for as long as I was, and better to be where I could help  
easily if you needed me. But I'll be in touch, so at least that's  
something.  
  
M.A.F.C.  
  
Harry stared at the initials for a long moment, confused. They began to blur in front of his eyes as he thought. He sat up suddenly, the realisation like an electric shock. M.A.F.C. Morrigan Alhena Farrell Carrick. He grinned, shaking his head. The parchment went blank. Apparently, Morrigan had decided to make sure that the burden of keeping everyone's secrets didn't rest entirely on Harry. It was nice, he thought fleetingly, to have someone take the need for worry out of his hands. And, if he was being honest, the fact that she'd saved him the trouble of any worry at all was a relief.  
  
Still smiling, Harry turned to the first page of the album, and couldn't quite prevent his gasp. He was oblivious to the other students in the Common Room turning to look at him intently. Gradually, when he showed no further signs of distress, their attention returned to their books or their conversations.  
  
Grinning up at him from the first page were three Hogwarts students, all of them familiar. On the left, Sirius Black beamed up at Harry, his tie askew, his longish hair wind-tossed, his collar crooked, and his black eyes sparkling with what could only be described as mischief. On the right, Remus Lupin, his tie knotted correctly, his brown eyes glowing, his brown hair shaggy above his slightly frayed robes, was waving at Harry. In the center, James Potter was laughing, his blue eyes glowing with welcome and amusement, his tie hanging undone around his neck, his collar up on one side and down on the other.  
  
As Harry watched, they all winked at him. He stared, transfixed, as they began clowning around, jostling for position inside the photograph's white- framed edges. Sirius nudged James and Lupin out of the way, and Lupin was momentarily cut out of the frame altogether. Then Lupin shoved back, and Sirius disappeared for a moment. James took advantage of the moment to shove in front of both of his friends and mug for the camera. Apparently, this was a temptation the others could not resist, and they tackled him. All three went down in a cloud of flailing arms and legs, flying robes, and silent laughter. Harry grinned as he watched them wrestle, and had to stifle laughter when they ended up in a tangled pile on the ground, still beaming at him. They waved. He caught himself before he waved back, and turned the page.  
  
James and Sirius, standing beside the Hogwarts Express, stared back at him rather solemnly. They wore khaki pants and sweaters, and they were shuffling their feet nervously as they stood on the platform at King's Cross. They didn't seem to know each other very well, Harry thought; there was none of the rough-and-tumble closeness of the first photograph. As they stood there, uncomfortable, a man in wizarding robes wheeling a trolley stacked with trunks passed through the front of the frame and knocked a tall, skinny boy with brown hair and a somewhat moth-eaten green sweater into them.  
  
James reacted first, stopping the skinny boy before he managed to hit the ground. Even as the tall boy straightened, Harry knew it was Lupin. Apparently the ice had been broken by that one chance encounter; the boys grinned and laughed as they introduced themselves. Sirius dragged Remus into the picture, and their previously formal and stilted pose became natural. Harry could see the dawning friendship between them. It made him want to stare at the picture forever. His father, his godfather, and the closest thing he had left to a father, meeting for the first time on the Hogwarts Express.  
  
Well, Harry thought with a twinge of guilt, he supposed that Mr. Weasley was awfully close to a father as well, but Mr. Weasley was different. Mr. Weasley hadn't known Harry's father when James was at Hogwarts, and he had children of his own. Professor Lupin just felt more like a father in Harry's mind, the way Sirius had felt more like Harry's father up until the moment Sirius had fallen through the veil. Harry liked Mr. Weasley a lot, and he loved being part of the Weasley's wild, chaotic, caring family. But no matter how much the Weasleys liked him, when he was with them Harry felt no connection to his past, as he had with Sirius and still did with Lupin.  
  
Harry turned the page, and this time he couldn't hold in the gasp. His mother and Alice Longbottom were sitting together on the same sofa that sat in front of the fire in this very Common Room. He recognised Neville's mother immediately. Just as she had in the only other photograph he'd ever seen of her, she looked very much like her son. Neville had inherited her round face and her cheerful, sparkling eyes. In the photo, she looked as though she might have been a year or two older than Lily Evans, who might have been twelve at the time. They seemed to be fairly good friends despite the age difference.  
  
Lily's dark red hair glowed like fire, and her green eyes were bright with laughter. Alice Longbottom's dark hair and dark eyes picked up light and reflected it back at the camera, and her smile was as sweet as her friend's was enchanting. They waved at Harry, then burst into giggles, leaning on each other for support as they laughed and laughed. Harry's smile was automatic and a bit fierce. He'd known a great deal more about his father than about his mother. It had always been easy to imagine James surrounded by friends, but most of what he'd known about Lily was what he knew from the Dursleys. He was glad to see that Hogwarts had been as good to her as it had been to his father.  
  
"Harry!" Neville walked through the Portrait-Hole and grinned on finding Harry already there. "I got sick of the Library," he continued, and made his way over to the table by the window, then dropped his bag down to the ground. He removed Harry's robes from the chair nearest Harry, and handed them over. Harry hooked his robes over the back of his own chair absently, and heard Neville's gasp.  
  
"Hey. That's my Mum," Neville said, staring at the picture. "And yours," he added. He sounded absolutely fascinated, and thrilled to no small degree. "I've never seen a picture of my Mum when she was that young. I almost didn't recognise her."  
  
Harry laughed. "Neville, you look just like her," he said with a shake of his head. "There's no way you could miss her."  
  
Neville looked absurdly flattered by this simple statement. Harry thought for a moment, and decided that perhaps this wasn't as absurd as it first appeared. If Neville had never seen any early pictures of his mother, and if Neville didn't remember seeing his mother except as she was now, perhaps he didn't realise how strong the resemblance was. He grinned and they watched the picture together, Neville and Harry smiling down at their mothers, who were beaming up at them and waving.  
  
"This is great," Neville said after a while. "Are there more like this?"  
  
"I'm not sure, really," Harry said. "I just found it in my cabinet—it's from...a family member," he finished, and Neville nodded his understanding. "There's a few good ones of Professor Lupin and Sirius and my dad," he said, and paged back to show Neville. While they were looking at the first photo—James, Sirius, and Lupin were wrestling again, this time fighting for a small, silvery object in Sirius' hand—Hermione came in and sat down. Harry and Neville shifted over so that she could see what they were looking at. Hermione forgot all about the homework she was planning to get started on.  
  
"Oh, Harry," she breathed, as the three boys in the photograph ended up in a tangled lump on the floor, Lupin holding the small silvery object triumphantly, laughing. "They're so young, and so happy!" She sounded as though it wouldn't take much to send her over the edge into tears. Harry rescued her by turning the page, and they all laughed as they watched James, Sirius, and Lupin meeting for the first time on Platform 9-3/4.  
  
Hermione exclaimed softly over the picture of Lily and Alice, and she, Neville, and Harry looked over to the sofa before the Common Room fire involuntarily, then back at the photo. Looking more closely, Harry caught a glint of mischief in Alice's pretty, dark eyes, and as he turned the page thought he saw something in her hand.  
  
He forgot all about that when he caught sight of the next photograph. Someone had apparently decided to have a Halloween party in the Gryffindor Common Room, Muggle-style. His father, Sirius, Lupin, his mother, and the Longbottoms were all in costume, standing in front of the Portrait-Hole. He had to smother the laughter that was threatening to burst out of him in hysterical peals. James and Sirius were dressed as werewolves. Lupin was, if his lack of costume was any indication, dressed as a normal old Wizard. Lily and Alice were hippies. Frank Longbottom was a vampire.  
  
Harry, Hermione, and Neville watched as Sirius and James pretended to attack Lupin, who pretended to be afraid. Lily and Alice put on sunglasses with round blue lenses and did a little dance. Then Frank grabbed Alice and pulled off a very creditable Dracula imitation, bending her backward over his arm and showing his fake fangs as he leaned over to "bite" her neck.  
  
Neville and Hermione laughed. Harry lost his battle with laughter. He laid his head down, trying to muffle his laughter in the crook of his arm. It didn't work. They met each others' eyes and laughed until they were howling with it, tears streaming down their faces. After a while, Neville looked at Harry questioningly, and Harry nodded. He was still laughing too hard to turn the page on his own.  
  
Hermione gasped. Neville's eyes went wide. Harry's laughter choked off so suddenly that he was left without any breath at all for a long moment. It was the Longbottom's wedding.  
  
Alice looked impossibly sweet in long white robes, her hair shining darkly against the garland of white flowers that crowned it. Frank looked a bit dazed, half a head taller than his bride, in dark robes, his earnest face glowing with happiness. Harry had to swallow against a lump in his throat. He remembered the Longbottoms' wasted bodies and empty eyes back in St. Mungo's and compared them to the Longbottoms as they had been. He thought he heard Hermione sniff. Neville was absolutely silent, staring transfixed at the photograph.  
  
Harry recognised a great many people surrounding the Longbottoms in the photograph—his own parents; Sirius and Lupin; Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall; Moody; Arthur and Molly Weasley; Elphias Doge, wearing the stupidest hat Harry had ever seen. More people moved in and out of the frame, as though the photo had been taken in the middle of a dance floor where silent music was still playing—a young Wizard who resembled Susan Bones greatly; Benjy Fenwick, Marlene McKinnon, and Dorcas Meadowes, who Harry recognised from Moody's picture of the old Order; Professor Snape; Peter Pettigrew. Gideon and Fabian Prewett reeled by, obviously the worse for drink, laughing merrily at whoever was holding the camera.  
  
"Neville, they're so beautiful," Hermione said softly. Harry nodded, thinking the word was strangely appropriate. Separately, the Longbottoms were good-looking but nothing that would make you take a second glance. Together, in this photograph, they were beautiful. Harry felt that lump in his throat again.  
  
Neville simply stared at his parents, who looked young and full of life and enormously thrilled with the world in general. He was silent so long that Harry started to get worried, then he looked over at Neville. He thought he'd never seen a smile that wide on anyone's face. He doubted that he would ever again see one that affected him as much.  
  
"This is why it's so important," Neville said softly, nodding. He looked at Harry and Hermione, his smile fading. "This is why it matters so much, fighting them. Because this is what they destroy."  
  
Harry nodded solemnly. "That's why we're going to win," he said simply. "Because things like this can't ever really be destroyed."  
  
They stared at each other for a moment, then looked down as Sirius reached over and gave Frank Longbottom a smacking kiss; it was so melodramatic that they could almost hear it. The three of them laughed as James leaned over and planted a similar kiss on Alice's cheek. Neville had just moved to turn to the next page when they were interrupted by Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who had a question about the next D.A. meeting. Neville shut the album instinctively, and Harry, looking down, saw that the cover had changed. It now appeared to be 101 Magical Objects and Amulets. He grinned, and turned back to Lavender and Parvati.  
  
*  
  
It was close to midnight when Harry, Ron, and Neville finished with their Potions essays—on the advice of the new tutor, Ron was doing the essays along with Harry and Neville—and wearily put their books away. Ginny and Hermione had gone to bed what seemed like hours ago. Harry's fingers were itching to pull out the photo album.  
  
"Oh, go ahead, Harry. You've been reaching for that thing every half-hour or so since Parvati and Lavender came over this afternoon," Neville said, laughing. Harry grinned and pulled out the album. Its cover had changed back to a simple black background. He untied it, opened the cover, and Ron pulled his chair closer for a better angle.  
  
The first photo, of James, Sirius, and Lupin, made Ron laugh, and Harry and Neville grin. The second made them laugh together. This time, instead of saving Lupin's fall, James and Sirius fell down with him, and they ended up in a tumbled heap on the platform, steam from the engine billowing around them. The next pictures—Lily and Alice, the Halloween party, and the Longbottoms' wedding, were the same. Ron exclaimed over all three, and pointed out in a wondering tone that his parents looked young. He didn't seem to have ever really considered what his parents had been like when they were young, Harry thought with a grin. Harry himself had never really considered what his parents would have been like had they grown older.  
  
Neville finally got to turn the page past his parents' wedding photograph, and they all studied the next picture with wide eyes. Even Neville, who was hardly the world's biggest Quidditch fan, was impressed. When he'd turned the page, the three of them had been watching a photograph of James standing on the Quidditch pitch with his broom. As they stared, James had mounted his broom and kicked off from the ground, whizzing up into the air in a red-and-gold blur. The photograph shifted perspective to follow him, and was moving in closer to James when a green-and-silver blur streaked across the front of the frame. Harry, Ron, and Neville started, then stared harder.  
  
The picture, they realised, was tracking the entire game. It panned the crowd from time to time, showing students holding banners reading "Gryffindor for the Cup!" and "Another Slytherin Win!" among other, ruder sayings. The stands were a sea of red, gold, green, and silver. The players were little more than blurs whizzing by. After a moment or two of frustration, Harry decided to try and slow the action down. He tapped the picture with his wand, then hesitated, wondering what to say.  
  
Words appeared below the picture, written in what was unmistakably Malcolm's careless scrawl. "'Slow' for slower action, 'Fast' to speed the action up, 'Zoom' for close-up shots, 'Freeze' to pause the action, 'Rewind' to go back, 'Fast Forward' to go forward."  
  
Harry looked at Neville and Ron. They grinned at each other. Harry said, "Slow," and the players hurtling across the pitch slowed so suddenly that he felt his stomach lurch. But he could see his father up ahead, as James caught the Quaffle with easy grace and sped toward the Slytherin goal hoops. Two red-and-gold-robed players moved with him, and they passed the Quaffle between them with a speed that even the slowed action showed as a blur.  
  
"Wow," Neville said, impressed, as they watched James score the first goal. "That's a really neat piece of magic, Harry. I wonder how Mal managed to make it show the whole game?"  
  
"Good question," Ron said, nodding, and tried not to look too disappointed as Harry reached out to turn the page. "That would come in handy if we could teach it to Colin, wouldn't it? We could review every game."  
  
Harry and Ron looked at each other. Neville started to laugh.  
  
"One more, then I'm for bed," Ron said, finally, and did his best to cover up a huge yawn.  
  
Harry and Neville nodded. Tomorrow was bound to be a busy day, and now that the three of them were studying as much as Hermione, it was harder to stay up so late without a really pressing reason. Harry turned the page. Then he wished he hadn't.  
  
James, Sirius, Lupin, Frank, and Peter Pettigrew held raised glasses up, tilted in the direction of the camera. The sight of Pettigrew—Wormtail fit him much better, Harry thought with a scowl—was enough to bring all Harry's pain and grief close to the surface. He hadn't felt it this strongly since before meeting Malcolm and Morrigan this summer.  
  
As Harry watched, this photo began to move, just like all the others. But this one was different, somehow. It was as though the people in the photograph knew everything that had happened since it was taken and were intent on making their feelings about more recent events known. Pettigrew began to slink off to the side, toward the edge of the photograph. Sirius grabbed him by the collar, spilling Wormtail's glass. Lupin took hold of one of Peter's arms, Frank the other. James grabbed one leg, and Sirius released the collar of Wormtail's robes to take the only leg left. Their mouths moved in unison.  
  
"They're counting," Ron realised, just as the four men began to swing Wormtail forward, then backward. When they reached the number three, they all released him, sending him flying out of the frame. In the background, some plates and broken glassware rolled over the floor and into the frame. Harry guessed that Wormtail had landed on top of a table and sent everything crashing.  
  
He grinned with the others, then grinned wider when he heard Neville whisper, "Way to go, Dad." But as he closed the album and headed upstairs with Ron and Neville, his mind was still seething with anger and loss.  
  
*  
  
Harry woke the next morning bleary-eyed and exhausted. He'd been afraid to sleep last night with his mind in the state it had been, and he'd spent an endless time trying to empty his brain of everything crashing around inside it. If his present weariness was any indication this morning, clearing his mind had taken a great deal longer than he'd thought.  
  
He blinked as Ron burst into the room, his face murderous. Harry sat up in a hurry, his exhaustion forgotten in a flash. The last time Ron had looked like this, Harry and Neville had pulled him away just before he could start a duel with Malfoy in the corridor.  
  
"What is it?" Harry asked, and was about to throw off his covers and head over to Ron's bed when Ron changed direction, stomped over to Harry's bed, and sat down heavily.  
  
"Another owl from Percy," Ron said, lacing his brother's name with all the contempt he could muster. "I tell you, Harry, he's going to drive me to murder. It's more of the same. Stay away from Harry. He's dangerous. Do you want to work for me at the Ministry this summer. Wouldn't that be a treat." Ron's eyes met Harry's, full of something far darker than mere contempt. "A treat? Is he mad?" Ron started to rip up the letter, and Harry took it away from him to read it before Ron managed to destroy it.  
  
Dear Ron,  
  
After your last owl, I feel I would be doing you a  
grave disservice if I did not write again and try to  
persuade you against this course of action. Though  
I understand that Harry was your friend for a long  
time and that you do not want to hurt his feelings  
by refusing to have anything to do with him, I  
really must protest your willingness to throw away  
your future in this way. It pains me to say it, but I  
see that the example our parents have set for you, and  
the example our older brothers have set for you, have  
begun to do you serious harm. If you do not change  
your ways, I fear that you will irreparably damage  
your chances.  
  
The day before last, I was speaking to the Minister  
—he could not be more kind to me under the  
circumstances, which our family has made rather  
difficult for me—and he mentioned that you had  
done well on your O.W.L.s. Though this is another  
step in the right direction, Ron, it will not be enough  
to carry you through if you do not stop associating  
with Harry Potter and his kind.  
  
In the last year he has nearly gotten you killed at the  
Ministry, has encouraged you to associate with known  
murderers, and has done everything he can to sabotage  
your future. If you do not do something soon to stop  
this trend, your future will not be much brighter than  
that of our father. And we both know how he has  
failed to achieve whatever potential he once had.  
  
Perhaps you would better understand if I gave you  
a chance to experience the future you might have at  
the Ministry next summer, beginning after your end-  
of-term exams. I'm certain that you would understand  
the value of what you are risking if you came to work  
with me at the Ministry after school is out for the year.  
Wouldn't it be a treat—living in London, working  
for the Minister!  
  
Please don't ignore this letter, Ron—I truly have your  
best interests at heart.  
  
Your brother,  
Percy.  
  
Harry was silent for a moment, taking in all that Percy had said. He understood now why Ron had reacted so strongly to this owl, when the previous seven or eight had become something of a running joke. Percy had truly crossed the line, calling his father an underachiever; insulting Bill, Charlie, Fred, and George. It was, Harry thought, as though Percy were trying to say everything he could to prevent Ron from listening at all.  
  
Ron growled, "He's mad," and grabbed the letter out of Harry's hands to throw it in his drawer. "Honestly," Ron continued, standing up to pace from Harry's bed to the window and back. "Could he be more of a git?" Ron asked, hissing the last word out like a steam engine pulling out of the station. "I mean...I mean," he floundered, then went on, "Mum and Dad and Bill and Charlie are a bad example, you're trying to sabotage my future career at the Ministry—and, by the way, Harry," Ron said, stopping and whirling to face Harry. "What's your 'kind'?" He raised his eyebrows at Harry, who made no attempt to answer. Ron wasn't looking for an answer. He needed to get his anger out, and Harry wasn't about to stop him. He knew only too well what it felt like to carry too much rage pent up inside.  
  
"What a bloody awful git," Ron said bitterly, and cast a hate-filled glance at the letter, lying in the open drawer of his bedside cabinet. "A complete nutter." He growled and spun around again, walking back to the window, then back again. "A treat to work for him in the Ministry? Bloody hell, it would be worse than detention with Snape. A treat to work for the Minister? Is he joking?" Ron stopped, breathing heavily, staring at Harry.  
  
"Well, at least he didn't call me violent," Harry said with an overdone sigh. Ron's eyes wavered between fury and amusement, then he fell back onto Harry's bed, laughing.  
  
"Right, I suppose he's getting better, then," Ron said, and closed his eyes. "It's funny," he said after a long moment. "I always thought he would come through in the end. But he's getting worse and worse. Further and further away." Ron sighed, opened his eyes again, and looked at Harry. "He's about as likely to figure out he's wrong and make up with my parents as I am to tell him I want to work at the Ministry this summer."  
  
Harry grinned. "I hate to say it," he said, "but I think you might be right." He sighed. "Do you think the others will want to know about this?" he asked.  
  
Ron knew Harry wasn't talking about his parents. There was no way on earth he'd have considered telling his mother and father all about Percy's letters. It would only hurt them more than they were already hurt. "I suppose,' he said finally. "We'll—I mean, the six of us will—have to work it out, won't we?" he asked.  
  
Harry nodded. "We'll talk to the others and see what they think," he said, then slowly stood up and started getting dressed. His stomach was growling, and his eyes felt as though he'd packed them in sand before going to sleep.  
  
Ron waited for Harry, then they both went down to breakfast together.  
  
*  
  
As it turned out, Percy's owl was completely forgotten by the time they made it to their free period and found a table in the Library. At breakfast, Hermione's copy of the Daily Prophet had announced that some of the escaped Death Eaters had been spotted. Malfoy had been seen by an old Warlock in Wiltshire; Avery and Dolohov by a young Witch and Wizard out for a sunset walk near Balfarg. Macnair had been reported by a young Witch out taking her children for a stroll in Knowlton; Rookwood had been seen walking down the street in Minions by an 'unnamed source'; and Rabastan Lestrange had been spotted by a retired Auror, hurrying into a shop near Blencathra. The news was all over the Great Hall in a matter of minutes, or so it seemed. Breakfast, a normally loud and fairly cheerful meal, was subdued, conversations were whispered. People looked nervous. The only person who seemed to be openly enjoying the news was Draco Malfoy. He was the center of attention at the Slytherin table, and he clearly loved every moment of his friends' fawning.  
  
"I don't know why he's so happy about it," Hermione said crossly, folding her copy of the Daily Prophet back up and shoving it into her bag with unnecessary force. "He told us his father was out of prison at the end of last term," she added, glaring over at Malfoy, who was loudly regaling his friends with what seemed to be a story about his father. "Seems like if his father was any good at hiding and staying out of prison, he would have stayed out of the Daily Prophet, at any rate."  
  
Ron and Neville snorted with amusement. Ginny grinned. Harry nodded absently, but he was thinking hard. His scar hadn't twinged at all, not the slightest bit. And he would have thought that Voldemort would have been happy, or angry—depending on whether the Death Eater sightings were true—on seeing the news spread all over the Daily Prophet. Since he'd had such a hard time clearing his mind the night before, he'd have expected to feel something when news like this was making the rounds.  
  
"Something wrong, other than Death Eaters on the prowl, Harry?" Neville asked, his tone of feigned cheer finally getting through Harry's preoccupation where the others' questions hadn't.  
  
Harry grinned at Neville. "Right. Sorry. Er...well, I was just thinking about the news, I suppose," he said, and saw Lavender and Parvati return to their own conversation. "Strange, I don't have a headache this morning," he said, and saw his friends' eyes widen with comprehension.  
  
"We'll need to do that extra work after tutoring tonight," Hermione said, with a significant glance at the others. They all nodded, putting on a show of reluctance, and left for their first lessons of the day, beginning to count the hours until they could talk more openly.  
  
*  
  
His mind racing, Bill looked down at the scarred bar counter, then looked back up at Remus Lupin. He looked over at Tristan. They looked back at him steadily, and he was forced to try and accept what they had just told him.  
  
Bill was thinking hard about what he knew so far. Tristan had told him Saturday morning that Nicholas had found the fire. This was Thursday evening, and they were taking advantage of the lull between the after-work crowd and the evening crowd to discuss some business. Someone on the other side already knew that the fire had supposedly been found. Had known since early that afternoon.  
  
"Nicholas didn't find the fire," Bill repeated, his voice sounding strange in his ears.  
  
"Nicholas wasn't even looking for the fire. No one has been, not since Friday."  
  
Bill looked up again, his attention caught by Remus' overly gentle, almost fatherly, tone. Remus' steady gaze held a certain amount of sympathy, and Bill was suddenly certain that Remus knew exactly what had gone on at Tristan's house before Morrigan had disappeared. Bill didn't need to look at Tristan to be aware that Tristan knew what had happened. Tristan seemed to know everything the moment it occurred. Despite this, Bill couldn't even dredge up his usual half-amused irritation. He felt too damned miserable to even try.  
  
"And no one else knew about Nicholas supposedly finding the fire—no one other than myself," Bill asked. He suddenly understood what Tristan and Remus were getting at.  
  
"Not even Morrigan knew," Tristan said, and something flashed in his black eyes, then was gone before Bill was certain he'd seen it at all.  
  
"How could she not have known?" Bill asked, hardly able to believe that. "She's in charge of everything, isn't she?" He remembered how he'd treated her on Friday evening, based on that belief, and felt worse than ever.  
  
Lupin sighed and shook his head. "She never really has been. She's our Secret Keeper, of course. She's the one a lot of us look to. But nothing happens within our little group," he said, with an amused little smile at the inadequacy of that description, "that isn't a joint effort. She, Malcolm, and Tristan hash everything over, then they bring it to me, then we go to the rest of the group."  
  
"You probably didn't notice, because we're very good at doing things below most people's sight lines. We've been doing it since we were in school together. But no decision ever gets made if anyone has a serious objection. We're all in this together, and we all get a chance to discuss it. That's what the meetings are for." Tristan arched a brow when Bill appeared ready to argue the point, then went on when Bill subsided. "As far as Mor is concerned, unless it's an emergency, nothing ever gets decided about the kids without everyone's input. She understands as well as anyone what risks we're taking. And what risks they run every day."  
  
Bill took a long moment, and a long drink of beer, to gather his thoughts tightly enough to manage a response. "So you two were the only ones who knew about the misinformation. Why are you any more trustworthy than the rest of us?" he asked. He realised too late that the question could hardly have been phrased to be more insulting to both men. "Sorry," he said, shaking his head as though to clear it. "My mind really doesn't seem to be working so well today. Bad day at work, I guess."  
  
"Was it?" Tristan asked, interested.  
  
Bill frowned. "Well, not until around lunch. Then things just kind of went to hell. I had too much on my mind, and I couldn't really concentrate."  
  
Silence met his words, deep and thoughtful. In the middle of that silence, something clicked in Bill's head.  
  
"I'll be damned," he said softly, with dawning horror. "That's it, isn't it? Someone at work..." his words trailed off, and he frowned. "I don't see what my day at work has to do with anything." His eyes clouded with exasperation, Bill stared at them almost defiantly.  
  
Lupin met Bill's eyes, and his own narrowed, as though he didn't like what he saw there. Sighing softly, he moved his arm off the counter. His wand slid from beneath the sleeve of his brownish sweater. Lupin pointed his wand at Bill and said, "Finite," very softly but very distinctly.  
  
Bill stared at him. "What did you do that for?" he asked, completely confused.  
  
"How was your day at work," said Tristan, his eyes intent on Bill's face.  
  
"Merlin, it was awful," Bill said. "Around lunch the whole day just went to hell, didn't it? It was as if..." Bill paused, and his bright blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "As if I couldn't concentrate on anything." He stopped, and when he looked at Remus and Tristan his eyes were clear and full of realisation. "As if I'd been Confounded," he said slowly.  
  
Tristan nodded. "If it had been a Memory Charm, which was what Morrigan was afraid of, a simple Finite wouldn't have done any good. In fact, there was a possibility that it might have made things worse. That's why she didn't want us to try it. But we had to know. Sorry to be taking chances like that with your head, mate," he said, with a touch of his old humour, "but you can blame your brothers as well. They suggested that we should go for it."  
  
"Charlie and the twins told you to go ahead and take a chance at frying my brain?" Bill asked, and was surprised to find himself amused by the idea.  
  
"Well, you're half right," Lupin responded with a twinkle in his eye, sliding his wand back into his sleeve.  
  
Bill couldn't help his laughter, which held as much relief as amusement. "So where do we go from here? I can't walk around Gringott's accusing everyone of Confounding me."  
  
"Right. That wouldn't go over so well," Tristan said drily, and Bill grinned again. "Problem is, until we know who it is we can't move to plug the leak, so to speak. And now that the Charm has been broken, it will be obvious to whoever's picking your brain that we know."  
  
"Who were you talking to around lunchtime today?" Remus asked, then looked down the bar and nodded to one of the few customers who was still gamely trying to drown the hardships of his workday in alcohol. He left for a moment, to top off the man's glass, and came back after a brief conversation with the Muggle, who was getting more and more cheerful with each refill.  
  
Bill thought for a moment, and frowned. "About a dozen different goblins, two or three Curse-Breakers in from Egypt for a week. There were a few people from the office in and out--Johnson, Kerwick, Flicker, and..." Bill's face took on a thoughtful expression. "Fleur and a few of her friends came by on their way to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch."  
  
Bill frowned. "Oh, you don't think..." he began, only to trail off. He hated to even consider that one of his co-workers would be working for the other side, but it only took a moment for that unease to pass. The feeling that replaced it in the next second was a far deeper disquiet. If the other side was working from inside Gringotts, and if the goblins went from neutral to enemies, the entire wizarding world could be held hostage, in effect, as their gold sat inaccessible and they could buy nothing. It wouldn't take long, under those circumstances, for the side that controlled the gold to gain control of everything else.  
  
Tristan's eyes met Bill's. They said nothing, but each was aware of how serious the situation had suddenly become. And how important it was to find out who was picking Bill's brain for information about the Order.  
  
Suddenly, all the preparation and all the planning of the last few months seemed grossly inadequate. Time was getting short, and the fight was coming closer. Though they'd hoped for more time, they had known the fight was approaching.  
  
The fight that was coming was no longer the fight they had expected.  
  
And they no longer had any idea who they would be fighting, or from what direction the first attack would come.  
  
Bill eyed his mug and sighed. There wasn't enough beer in all of Muggle England to take care of this one. 


	13. Union and Division

Chapter 13: Union and Division  
  
Harry and Ron were the last two students to leave the tutoring classroom. Sinon Blunt, the new tutor, glanced up at them as he was gathering his things. Harry had to fight down a wave of resentment. It seemed as though every time he looked at Sinon, the tutor was staring at him as though expecting Harry to announce that he was going to lead a charge against Voldemort right that minute. As though Sinon, looking at Harry, saw danger personified. And worse, as though the new tutor had decided to appoint himself Harry's guardian of the moment.  
  
Alhena--no, Morrigan, Harry corrected himself--had never been like this.  
  
"Things going all right, boys?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. Like his hair, they were such a pale blond that they were nearly without colour, and his beady dark eyes stared at them as though he wanted to smile but wasn't quite certain how to go about it. Harry thought that it seemed as though Sinon only wanted to smile when it would help him in keeping tabs on his students.  
  
"Oh, just fine," Harry said, and met Ron's eyes. They would have to leave, and come back later. Sinon showed absolutely no signs of leaving in a hurry, and Harry didn't want the new tutor to get suspicious about six students hanging about the corridors when they should have been on their way back to their Common Rooms.  
  
Ron nodded. "Right. We'll see you tomorrow then," he said with such false cheer that Harry nearly laughed. Ron had developed a decided dislike for Sinon, stemming from the Potions essays Ron was now being assigned at every Potions tutoring session despite the fact that he was not taking N.E.W.T Potions.  
  
Sinon's eyebrows rose again, and his lips stretched into an expression Harry assumed was meant to be a smile. "Tomorrow," he said seriously, and nodded as though to fix the date in his head. He watched the boys closely as they walked toward the door, his dark eyes gleaming intently.  
  
Harry pulled Ron out the door by the arm, and when they were in the Entrance Hall, they stared at each other.  
  
"Nice sense of humour, that one," Ron muttered.  
  
"We've got to get back to the classroom. How are we supposed to know for sure that he's gone?" Harry muttered back. Movement on the second-floor landing caught his eye, and he saw Ginny, Hermione, Luna, and Neville standing at the top of the first marble staircase. He and Ron started up the staircase, and made the landing just as the second section of the staircase began to swing.  
  
"We've got to get back into the classroom," Harry told the others, and they nodded. "But he's still there. And he was watching us again."  
  
"Did he get that fake smile on his face?" Ginny asked, sighing.  
  
Harry and Ron nodded glumly.  
  
"Right. Then he'll be waiting around in the room," Ginny said with authority. Harry wondered how she knew this. He decided, as he often had with the twins, that it would be better not to know.  
  
"Best bet is to use the Marauder's Map," Neville said with a nod. "If we go back to our Common Rooms, then check in an hour, we should be able to get down to the classroom and back up before curfew."  
  
Harry nodded, and turned to Luna. "We'll meet back here in an hour, unless we get word to you that it's no good."  
  
"Oh, it'll be fine," Luna said dreamily, and laughed. "But I suppose it's best to have a plan anyway." She and Ginny grinned at each other, then they all began walking up the staircase toward their common rooms. When they reached the 4th floor, Luna turned off the staircase and went off toward the hidden entrance to Ravenclaw Tower and the Ravenclaw Common Room. The others continued upward.  
  
Neville gave the password to the Fat Lady rather absently, as though he could no long be bothered about forgetting it, and the Portrait-Hole swung open to reveal what appeared to be a nearly-empty Common Room. They stepped into the room only to find that the Common Room was actually fairly crowded, but that the other students were all smashed into one side of the room, clustered around the notice board. Ginny and Hermione went over to examine the latest notice, while Harry, Ron, and Neville claimed the best squashy armchairs near the fire.  
  
"Notice from Fudge's office at the Ministry," Ginny said, raising her eyebrows as she looked at Harry. "Perpetrators of the attacks have been caught, Hogsmeade weekends are reinstated," she said, rolling her eyes. "Honestly. As if it's likely that they caught those Death Eaters. They don't even know for certain who it was, I'll bet. Percy probably wrote that," she said darkly. Ron snorted, half in disgust and half in amusement. Harry and Neville grinned outright. Even Hermione's lips twitched as she fought laughter.  
  
Harry gave his armchair over to Ginny and went upstairs to retrieve the Marauder's Map. When he'd sat back down on the floor between Neville's and Ginny's chairs, he unrolled it after checking to be sure that everyone was still intent on the notice board, and tapped it.  
  
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he said softly, tapped the map with his wand, and waited. Immediately, the outlines of Hogwarts appeared, populated with tiny moving dots. Harry scanned them quickly. The dots labelled "Minerva McGonagall" and "Severus Snape" were in their offices, as was the dot labelled "Albus Dumbledore." But in Dumbledore's office there was another dot, which seemed to be pacing back and forth. It was labelled "Malcolm Carrick."  
  
"There must be something going on," Ron said, reading over Harry's shoulder. "Otherwise Malcolm wouldn't be anywhere near the castle. Wonder how he got in?" he asked absently.  
  
"Front door, I'd imagine," Ginny said, shrugging. "What about the tutoring classroom, Harry?" she asked.  
  
"Sinon Blunt," Harry read with a sigh, then rolled up the map as two first- years came over to ask Hermione whether Donald Ferguson should be turning purple and sprouting wings. With a long-suffering sigh, Ron accompanied her over to the other end of the room, where several of the first-years had been practicing Transfiguration.  
  
"Point your wand at the thing you want Transfigured, not just anywhere," Harry heard Hermione instructing the first-years patiently, and looked at Ginny and Neville. They snorted with laughter and turned around, ignoring the glare Hermione directed their way as she performed the counterspell and Donald Ferguson's new wings disappeared and his colour returned to normal.  
  
"Harry, about the game against Slytherin. There's only a month before it, and we still don't really have a good strategy," Ron pointed out, sitting back down in his squashy armchair. "You said that the Slytherins have new players, and they're good. And a lot bigger than we are. So how are we going to figure out a strategy? I've got too many things rolling around my head to think about it long enough to manage one."  
  
"We should owl Wood," Ginny said with a decisive nod. "It would make his day brighter, don't you think, being asked for advice on the Slytherin match? And he's been moved up from the Puddlemere Reserve team to the Regulars, earlier than expected. So he can't have changed much, can he?"  
  
Harry and Ron grinned at each other. "Right," they said together. "And we should talk to Fred and George as well," Ron added, and pulled parchment and his quill out of his bag. "I'll write to the twins, Harry. You write Oliver. Ginny, we'll need your help so we don't sound like we're just trying to get them to do it all for us."  
  
"Even though you are," Hermione pointed out, though she seemed more amused than irritated. Harry had a feeling that, having finally gotten through to them all about the importance of their studies, Hermione was willing to let them get away with a little corner-cutting when it came to Quidditch.  
  
"Right. Well, you can't do it all, can you?" Ron muttered vaguely, already immersed in his letter. Harry nodded in Hermione's direction, busily writing his own letter. Not only was it a good idea, but writing to Oliver and the twins gave them a perfect excuse to get to the Owlery if they needed to tell Luna that the meeting was off.  
  
In less than a half-hour, Harry and Ron were on their way to the Owlery with a letter for Wood, a letter for the twins, and a note for Luna, just in case it was needed. Inside the Owlery, Harry checked the Marauder's Map and found the tutoring classroom empty. He slipped the note for Luna into his bag. He gave Hedwig a few owl treats and petted her for a few minutes before giving her the letter to Wood and watching her leave by way of the large open window in the top of the wall. A few minutes later, she was followed by Pigwidgeon, and Harry and Ron headed for the tutoring classroom, to wait for the others. Neither of them noticed the dark figure that followed them through the corridors.  
*  
  
A half-hour later, the six of them were standing in the tutoring classroom, and Hermione was checking the room for jinxes or curses or Listening spells. A short time afterward, she performed a Silencing Spell, then an Imperturbable Charm.  
  
"Lucky for us he finally left," Harry muttered. "It's not like we had all night, you know?"  
  
"He's mental," Ron said with a nod. "I mean, really. Does he have to watch us all the time, like he's taking notes? It's creepy. *He's* creepy."  
  
"I don't know," Neville protested. "Morrigan told us about the new tutor. He can't be as bad as he seems." He paused for a moment and considered that idea, as the others stared at him as though he'd suggested that Professor Snape was a kind, gentle man. "Can he?" Neville asked weakly. The others simply watched him with sympathetic expressions. Neville sighed and moved closer to the teacher's desk in the empty classroom, where Harry was holding his Chocolate Frog card. He seemed to be examining it carefully. After a few minutes of utter silence, Hermione and Ginny moved closer to Harry and stared at the card, too.  
  
"It's different," Harry said after a moment, and Hermione and Ginny nodded. The others took their cards out, and looked at them, seeing no difference. Then they tapped the cards with their wands and spoke their passwords, and stared at the letters that appeared on the cards.  
  
"Chocolate Frog Cards: Wizarding Hall of Fame Edition! Wizarding Fun Facts! #1: The full moon is tomorrow night," they read silently, and looked at each other.  
  
"Professor Lupin," Hermione said after a moment. "We can't contact Professor Lupin. Not around the full moon."  
  
They nodded, and Ginny read the next bit out loud. "#2: Vampires can be found all over Britain, and are approachable, using adequate precautions, after sundown." She laughed. "I suppose that's our hint to call Tristan first."  
  
"Here's another one," Ron said with a shake of his head. "Guess who wrote it. 'Red-headed male twins are the most powerful magical beings in the world and should be approached with due reverence and respect. They can and will help you with anything at all, at any old time, especially if it's important."  
  
Harry grinned. "Good to know Fred and George haven't changed much in a week or two."  
  
"Sure it wasn't Malcolm?" Ginny asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Could have been, at that," Ron said thoughtfully. "It wasn't exactly clear whether the red-headed male twin had freckles or not." He and Harry grinned at each other and shrugged.  
  
"Tristan," Hermione told Harry sternly. He sighed and looked back at his card, but not so quickly that he missed the sparkle of laughter in her eyes.  
  
Harry tapped his Chocolate Frog card with his wand again, and the small inset frame where, up until a few minutes ago, Albus Dumbledore's picture had resided, went blank. The entire card glowed golden, then subsided, and Tristan's face appeared inside the frame. In the background, there was a great deal of noise, as though someone was rearranging every stick of furniture in Tristan's house at once. Tristan appeared not to notice this.  
  
"Harry?" Tristan asked, an eyebrow raised. "What's up?"  
  
"Tell him we'll owl him and Ron back about Quidditch!" called a voice somewhere on Tristan's side of the conversation. It was clearly Fred or George, though Harry wasn't quite sure which one it was. In any event, the interruption had no effect on Tristan, who simply waited for Harry to say something.  
  
"Well, we needed to tell you lot about something," Harry said after a moment. "About Percy."  
  
The general clamour in the background stopped instantly, then restarted louder than ever--only this time, it was Charlie, Fred, and George asking questions. A moment later, Harry and the others heard a female voice rise above the others to say, "Silencio!" There was silence, then the woman's voice said, "Go ahead, Tris."  
  
"Thanks, Gwynne," Tristan said, sounding distinctly amused. When his face turned back to look at Harry, Harry saw the queer gleam in Tristan's eyes that would have been laughter had Tristan been anyone else. Harry grinned.  
  
"Ron got another owl from Percy this morning," Harry explained. "Hang on, it's better if Ron explains it to you. It was *his* owl, after all."  
  
Ron explained about the owl--what time it had arrived, what the note had said, how Hermes had flown off without waiting for a response. When he had finished, there was utter silence in Tristan's parlour for a long moment.  
  
"So he didn't ask you for a response?" Gwynne asked, and Harry and the others saw her face come into focus on their cards. "There wasn't any write- me-tomorrow or meet-me-at-midnight-under-the-tallest-tree kind of thing?"  
  
"No," Ron said, then rolled his eyes. "As if I'd meet the great git anywhere," he added scornfully. "What's he thinking, that's what I want to know. Has he gone mad, or is he just incredibly stupid?"  
  
The sounds of a struggle in the background indicated that Fred, George, or Charlie, or all three, had very definite opinions on that score and were trying to express them in a decidedly violent fashion.  
  
"Next one of you who moves gets Leg-Locked," Tristan said mildly. The commotion ended swiftly.  
  
"He definitely seems to think that he can get you a job at the Ministry over the summer," Gwynne said, frowning. "And that's not the usual course of things. In fact, I can't think of a single underage Wizard or Witch who ever worked at the Ministry during summer holidays. Can you, Tris?"  
  
"Not a one," Tristan said grimly.  
  
"Charlie? Fred? George?" Gwynne asked, and though no noise was made, she apparently received a negative response from each, because she nodded her head in agreement. "This is definitely worth our checking out," Gwynne added. "Obviously, we've got people who can try and verify the possibility within the Ministry, but it won't be easy to do without arousing suspicion, and it will take some time to do properly. Still, better that we know now-- we can get to work on it before it becomes crucial."  
  
Ron nodded, feeling better about Percy's owl than he had all day.  
  
"You should definitely consider telling your father, at least," Tristan said. Ron looked alarmed at the mere idea of trying to explain to his father that Percy thought Arthur Weasley was a total disgrace. "I know you won't want to tell him everything," Tristan added, his black eyes sympathetic. "A lot of that rot isn't the kind of thing you'd want him to hear. But the part about the summer job--now, that's something your Dad should know, Ron. Because the fact that he's offering it at all could put you in danger. It could make you some kind of a target. We don't know enough yet to be certain. But it's a very real consideration."  
  
Reluctantly, Ron nodded. "Make Charlie, Fred, and George promise not to tell Dad," he said, and Tristan, grinning, nodded in reply.  
  
"I'll make sure of it," Tristan promised. "You make sure you consider telling him. Very soon."  
  
Ron nodded again, though he didn't look happy about the prospect of that conversation with his father. "I will, I guess. But it's not going to be such a terrific thing to talk about, if you know what I mean."  
  
"I know what you mean," Tristan said with a nod. He'd had difficult conversations of quite another sort with his own father, not so long ago. But he'd been older than Ron was now, and his revelations had dealt only with himself.  
  
In the background, a door opened and shut, then a flash of dark red hair and blue eyes came into view over Tristan's shoulder. "You lot had better get back," came Bill Weasley's voice from behind Tristan. "Hi, Ron," he added, and Ron grinned. "Hi, Ginny." Ginny beamed at her oldest brother and waved. "I know damned well you've got to be back in your Common Rooms by nine. It's almost half-past that now."  
  
Ginny laughed. Harry and Ron sighed. Hermione looked resigned. Luna looked dreamily indifferent. Neville groaned.  
  
"We'll get back to you if there's anything we find out about the Ministry or...the other," Tristan amended as Bill's eyes narrowed.  
  
"Right. Find out if *the other* wrote that ridiculous notice from the Ministry today, the one about how the Death Eaters who attacked Hogsmeade have been arrested, and about how Hogsmeade visits have been reinstated," Harry said sarcastically, and saw Tristan's and Bill's eyes narrow in concentration.  
  
"They've been reinstated?" Tristan asked, disbelief dripping from his words.  
  
"They've been caught?" Bill asked, utterly shocked.  
  
"Yes and not hardly," Ginny replied, "at least as far as we're concerned. The Ministry seems to think differently."  
  
"We'll get to work on it," Tristan said, and after another moment or two, they all spoke the spell that disconnected the cards.  
  
Harry and the others sighed, and began working out the best way to get from the tutoring classroom through the entrance hall and up to their Common Rooms without being caught out. Harry hadn't brought the Invisibility Cloak; it was useless with six people, and he hadn't expected a simple conversation to have taken so long that they would have been out after curfew.  
  
After a minimum of discussion, Harry sent Ginny, Neville, and Luna upstairs first. Almost as soon as they had gone, Harry, Ron and Hermione left the classroom. They went in different directions, up three different staircases, in hopes of the fewest number of them being caught.  
  
The dark figure that had followed them down from the Common Room followed Harry up the far staircase that led to the Transfiguration classrooms. It wasn't until Harry had reached the Transfiguration corridor and realised that he would have to backtrack past Professor McGonagall's office that he heard the quiet footsteps behind him. He stopped and looked behind him. He saw the figure as it slipped behind an open classroom door and merged with the darker shadows. Harry felt the blood in his veins turn to ice, then just as quickly he felt fury burn through him. After all he'd been through in the past year, there was no way he was going to let some shadowy figure scare him. Not here, not in Hogwarts.  
  
Not now, when he had so many more friends to count on than he'd ever had before.  
  
He considered going back down the corridor and confronting the shadowy figure, and discarded that idea as foolish. It was one thing to be unafraid. It was another to be stupid. So he hurried on quietly down the hall, and heard the footsteps start up again. This time he looked back over his shoulder. The figure, shadowy as it had been before, seemed smaller. Harry was fairly certain that it wasn't smaller simply because he'd decided not to be afraid of it. He doubted the person, whoever it was, came up to his shoulder. He looked again as he gained the main corridor leading to the staircase, and his eyes narrowed. He decided that he'd been wrong. The person probably came to just above his elbow. Still too tall to be Colin or Dennis, given the height Harry had gained over the summer. But definitely too small to be a teacher. Too small, in fact, to be anyone but a very young student.  
  
Harry ducked around the corner, forgetting curfew, forgetting danger, forgetting everything but his irritation at being followed around and his gratitude that Hermione had Charmed the empty classroom against eavesdroppers. The footsteps quickened, as though the person was afraid of losing Harry around the corner. The footsteps, nearly running now, approached. Harry tensed. And when he was certain that his follower was standing no more than a foot or two away, just around the corner, he made his move.  
  
He'd been right, Harry saw as he grabbed the person. His hand clamped over the struggling boy's mouth to stop the ominous sounds that were issuing from his mouth, Harry sighed. His anger fled, leaving him drained. The shadowy figure who had been following Harry around was none other than his cousin.  
  
Mark Evans.  
  
"Stop fighting me, would you? I'm not going to hurt you, but you're going to have Filch on us in three seconds if you don't shut up," Harry hissed, and on hearing Harry's voice, Mark stopped struggling. He also stopped trying to yell, which reassured Harry, who took his hand away from Mark's mouth. The kid wasn't entirely stupid, then. Still, he'd been following Harry around wearing his outdoor cloak, hood up, and that didn't speak well for his intelligence, Harry thought. As soon as his cousin opened his mouth again, Harry changed his mind.  
  
"I was trying to hide in the shadows. That's why I put on my cloak, I look darker then," Mark gasped. "I heard Katie Bell talking...in the Common Room...The professors are patrolling the hallways after curfew now. I was following you to warn you, in case you didn't know." Mark gulped in a deep breath, then went on a bit guiltily. "Well, and I wanted to know what you were doing."  
  
Harry couldn't help it. He grinned. "Well, the last thing we should be doing is hanging around out here, if they're patrolling. Come on."  
  
Mark beamed up at him. "You're my cousin, did you know, Harry?" he whispered.  
  
Harry hesitated, then nodded as they began to climb the stairs quietly. "I know," he said softly.  
  
Mark's face fell. Harry had never felt so guilty in his life. "Oh," Mark said, nearly silently. He seemed to be crushed, as though it were his fault that Harry had avoided having anything to do with him since start of term.  
  
"Look, Mark, it's not that I don't like you or anything," Harry whispered as they turned a corner in a staircase and continued upward. "It's just that...well, I found out just before start of term, and at a really bad time, in a really bad way. And I didn't know how to handle it, that's all."  
  
"You could have said something," Mark said, sounding for all the world like he was going to cry.  
  
Harry felt his heart drop into his shoes.  
  
"I should have said something," Harry corrected his cousin. Mark looked up at him, with eyes that were suspiciously bright. "But I didn't, and I was wrong." Why, Harry wondered, did it feel so good to admit it? "See, I'd just found out about some other cousins I have, ones no one knew about-- kind of like no one knew about you," he said, surprised to find himself amused by that fact. "They told me about you. And then...well, something happened, and I didn't handle it well. I got mad at them, and I....well, I kind of tried to ignore everything they'd told me. To just assume that they'd been wrong about everything." Harry thought a moment as they turned onto another staircase, then went on. "Then I got here and found out they'd been right about you, and I didn't know how to deal with that." Harry fell silent, wondering how to explain it all properly.  
  
"Harry," Mark said, tugging on Harry's sleeve.  
  
"No, I--" Harry was bound and determined to get this right. He knew what it felt like to be unwanted and ignored, and he was appalled at himself for having caused that same feeling in another person. Having caused it intentionally, without thinking about what it might be making Mark feel. He hadn't thought of Mark as a person, just as one more thing Morrigan had been right about. Who knew better than he did what it felt like to be thought of as a thing, rather than a person?  
  
"Harry?"  
  
The urgency in Mark's voice finally got through to Harry, and he realised that they had stopped walking. He looked at Mark, who looked suddenly terrified. He looked up.  
  
His stomach lurched.  
  
Standing there, smiling, looking for all the world like an overjoyed ogre, was Argus Filch.  
  
They'd been caught.  
  
* An hour or two after the conversation with Harry and the others, Tristan's house was quiet. Bill and Gwynne had left soon afterward, Bill because he didn't want to hear about the latest plans given his situation at work and Gwynne because she'd only stopped by for a cup of tea. Tristan, Charlie, and the twins were sitting around in Tristan's parlour, having decided to leave the matter of Percy and the summer job until Percy's brothers were able to discuss it in a rational manner. Tristan sighed and leaned back in his chair. His uncharacteristic smile was enough to have Charlie eying him suspiciously, though it seemed to have reassured Fred and George that all was right with the world.  
  
"What's to smile about?" Charlie finally asked, after ten minutes of absolute silence during which he, due to his position in the chair facing Tristan, had been forced to watch Tristan smile at nothing. "Someone's been listening in on our plans, so to speak. Morrigan or Alhena or whoever the hell she was has been forced into hiding. Remus is gone for the next few nights. Bill's driving himself insane trying to figure out who's been picking his brain, and those two," he said, nodding at the twins, "have been all over hell and back without telling anyone exactly where they've been."  
  
Tristan just grinned. "Take it easy, Charlie," he said simply. "It might not seem like it, but things are actually looking up."  
  
Something in Tristan's voice, the merest hint of self-satisfaction, brought Charlie to attention. "What's looking up?" he asked, his brown eyes intent on Tristan.  
  
"Fred and George were all over hell and back finding out about Morrigan's new situation," Tristan told Charlie. "She's got a job. A good one, and a good one for hiding out at. She's also sent us a few names--people she thinks ought to be either invited to join the Order or at least invited to work hand-in-hand with it."  
  
"Where is she?" Charlie asked.  
  
Tristan shrugged. "Twins didn't tell me. I didn't ask. The fewer people who know where she actually is, the better." Which, he thought silently, was exactly why her new job suited their purposes so well.  
  
"Dumbledore knows," Fred said, nodding. "And then, of course, there's George and me. And we only know because she asked us to come specially."  
  
"You're too busy with the dragons, Charlie," George offered, a mock- comforting tone that held more mockery than comfort. Charlie aimed an obscene gesture in George's direction, but without heat. On learning that the Death Eaters were hunting for Morrigan-Alhena, he had been absolutely appalled. And he'd have been lying if he'd said that the news hadn't stirred up some dark old memories. After getting Tristan's owl, he hadn't really felt warm again for days.  
  
"How the two of you ever find time to squeeze in everything you do is beyond me," Charlie said, then shrugged. It always seemed as though the twins, maybe because there were two of them, managed to get twice as much done as the normal wizard, in less than half the time.  
  
"Oh, we have our ways," George said. He looked at Fred, who looked back at him. They laughed uproariously.  
  
"There's a meeting at headquarters tomorrow night," Tristan said, and they all looked at him. "The information that Morrigan passed on needs to be addressed. From something Mal said earlier today, I have a feeling there are a few more surprises we'll be learning about. "  
  
"Related to the information Mor passed along?" George asked, interested.  
  
"I wouldn't be surprised," Tristan replied. "She does manage to get herself into situations where she finds out things no one else would be able to in such a short time," he added. For the first time, a flicker of worry passed through his eyes. He was well aware, if the others were not, that the reason Morrigan managed to uncover so much information, was that she was simply unafraid to take risks others would refuse to even consider.  
  
It was one of many things about the current situation that made him nervous. He had a hard time being comfortable with any turn of events that left Morrigan out on her own, without anyone to rein her in. Just because she wasn't in the thick of things anymore, so to speak, didn't mean that she was out of danger.  
  
With Morrigan, he thought, the danger often came from within.  
  
And if she was alone, there was no one to help her avoid it.  
  
*  
  
Harry sighed as he made his way up to his dormitory, walking behind Mark. Funny, he thought tiredly, but he'd stopped thinking of his cousin as 'Mark Evans'. The kid had become Mark, and Harry supposed that Mark he would remain. Tired as he was, Harry had to admit that the kid had a lot of courage. He'd been trembling hard enough that Harry had thought he'd fall over with it, but Mark had stood firm in the face of Filch and Mrs. Norris, answering Filch's questions as though he wasn't nervous in the slightest. Harry doubted he'd done as well himself the first time--or the second, for that matter--that he'd been caught out after hours by Filch.  
  
They'd been in Filch's office for an hour, while Filch ranted and raved and shuffled papers about on his desk, looking for forms he didn't need. Mark had been pale as milk, but hadn't made a sound as Filch told them of the hideous punishments he had planned for their detention. Harry, who'd heard the entire list before, hadn't been much bothered. Mark had trembled harder with each and every new horror mentioned, but he hadn't broken down.  
  
When Filch had stormed out of his office for a moment, supposedly in search of thumbscrews, Harry had leaned over and whispered the story of the Kwikspell Course brochure in Mark's ear. That had been the turning point. When Filch had come back, he'd found them both grinning from ear to ear. It hadn't taken him long to finish things after that, and all mention of torturous punishments had disappeared from his grumbling. Harry had a feeling that he wasn't the only one who remembered the Kwikspell incident.  
  
They stopped at the door to Mark's dormitory. Mark looked up at Harry gloomily.  
  
"Sorry I got you in trouble, Harry," he said, miserably. He hung his head, and Harry thought, amused, that if it had been possible, Mark might have sunk through the floor.  
  
"Don't worry about it," Harry said, with a great deal more cheer than he actually felt. "It's not the end of the world. It's just a detention." He forced himself to try to believe this, and to forget what Professor McGonagall was likely to say when she found out he'd been out after hours. Especially given the situation. He had a feeling that using the new Ministry announcement as justification for not being very careful wouldn't do him much good there.  
  
"Yeah, but..."  
  
"Don't worry about it," Harry repeated, more emphatically, and surprised himself into a laugh. "It won't be so bad. You should have been here when the Weasley twins were here. They wouldn't even be worried about one detention."  
  
Mark grinned for the first time in well over an hour. "See you tomorrow then, Harry."  
  
"See you tomorrow, Mark."  
  
Harry went on up the steps to his own dormitory and found it surprisingly easy to get to sleep despite everything that had happened.  
  
*  
  
The good news, Harry decided, was that Hedwig returned with Wood's owl before Professor McGonagall had caught up with him in the Great Hall. That had made it possible for him to have ten minutes of the day to feel good about something before he had to deal with what had happened last night.  
  
After spending a few minutes patting Hedwig in appreciation for her having returned so quickly, Harry turned to Wood's letter, and unfolded it.  
Harry,  
  
I couldn't be happier to hear that you've been chosen Quidditch  
Captain this year. I mean, I know that Katie's got more experience and  
Ron played all last year while you didn't, but really, McGonagall made  
a solid choice. I'm sure that all the time you spent not playing last  
year will have absolutely no effect on your play this season.  
  
As far as the Slytherin match, I'll do some thinking and owl you back.  
Things are very busy these days, as several players have recently come  
up from the Reserve team and we've got to break them in. We've got a  
new Seeker, reminds me quite a bit of Charlie Weasley--fiercer flyer  
you've never seen. Well, reminds me of Charlie Weasley if he'd  
actually done something useful like play professionally instead of  
going to work with dragons, anyway. Reminds me a bit of you, too, if  
you had a bit more experience under your belt. So we've got a good  
Seeker, but there's always room for improvement, and we're putting in  
some long hours getting things up to snuff for our last matches of the  
season.  
  
Well, I should have a few hours free over the weekend, so I'll get  
back to you soon. Don't want Slytherin getting too much of an  
advantage over us. You'll need the time to practice. I'd recommend  
three or four hours a night, five or six nights a week. Though of  
course you're Captain, and it's your decision.  
  
If it's possible, I'm going to try and get to the Slytherin match. The  
team should be in the area about then, and some of them seem to think  
it might be fun to sit around and watch a match rather than play in  
one. It takes all kinds, I suppose.  
  
Oliver Wood  
  
Harry snickered and showed the letter to Ron. Ron scanned the letter, and when he got to the bit about Charlie, he burst out laughing. "Don't let me forget to tell Charlie he should have done something useful with his life," Ron gasped, and Harry was about to respond when Professor McGonagall's voice cut through the laughter like a knife.  
  
"Potter. Would you be so kind as to follow me to my office?"  
  
Harry looked at Ron and Hermione. They looked back at him apprehensively. With a silent sigh, Harry gathered his things and followed Professor McGonagall out of the Great Hall. He wasn't surprised to find Mark waiting outside the door, looking far more frightened than he had in Filch's office the night before.  
  
Harry couldn't blame him. Professor McGonagall was definitely the scarier of the two. And she did not look pleased with either one of them at the moment. On the contrary, she looked as though she would cheerfully have strangled both Harry and Mark for a few sickles. Harry would have felt a great deal less guilty had Professor McGonagall not been so nice to him about Hogsmeade and Morrigan earlier in the year.  
  
"This way, please," Professor McGonagall commanded them sternly, and set off down the corridor at a pace that left Mark nearly trotting after her. When they had arrived in her office, she sat down at her desk and pointed her wand at the door, shutting it firmly and rather loudly. Harry suddenly had a very bad feeling about this little meeting.  
  
"Mr. Evans. You were caught outside of Gryffindor Tower last night by Mr. Filch, after hours." Professor McGonagall's lips were so thin they were in danger of disappearing. Mark hung his head after nodding.  
  
"Mr. Potter. You were also caught outside of Gryffindor Tower last night by Mr. Filch, after hours."  
  
"I was," Harry said, nodding. "Caught red-handed," he added honestly, without thinking. He immediately wished he could take the words back. Professor McGonagall didn't seem to be in the mood for humour this morning.  
  
Unexpectedly, her scowl disappeared. Harry wouldn't have said that she smiled, exactly, but her lips became a little less thin, and her eyes warmed ever so slightly.  
  
"You both have detention with Professor Snape, tonight, beginning at 8pm. I am very tempted to give you another detention, Potter, for encouraging Mr. Evans, a first year to be out of the Tower after hours--"  
  
"Oh, no, Professor McGonagall," Mark burst out, clearly unable to stop himself. He looked both horrified and impressed by his daring. Harry was hard put not to laugh. "I was out of the tower on my own, Professor. Honestly. I only met Harry as we were coming back up the staircase. Honestly!"  
  
Professor McGonagall's expression did not change, but Harry got the distinct impression that she was trying not to laugh.  
  
"Potter?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.  
  
Harry nodded. "We only met on our way back to the Common Room," he said. It was with profound amazement that he heard himself add, "We got to talking about being cousins, I guess, and we didn't see Mr. Filch until it was too late to dodge him."  
  
Mark goggled at Harry, obviously torn between admiration and shock. The expression on Professor McGonagall's face was not much different. Harry couldn't tell whether her surprise was due to the revelation that he and Mark were cousins, or his own colossal stupidity.  
  
"See that it doesn't happen again," she managed, and pointed toward the door. Harry stood up and walked toward the door, Mark following him like a shadow. "Oh, and Potter?" she asked.  
  
Harry stopped and turned. Mark bumped into him. Professor McGonagall had to fight back a smile; Harry saw it distinctly that time. "The next time you decide to risk practice time by taking a walk around the halls after hours, see to it that I don't have to discuss it with you the next morning, will you?" she asked.  
  
"Uh, sure," Harry replied, and gave her a grin before heading out the door, Mark in tow.  
  
Harry thought he heard her laughing softly as they headed back toward the Great Hall.  
  
*  
  
The kitchen at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place had never, in any of their memory, been so packed full of people. It appeared that every single member of the Order was crammed into the kitchen. Most were standing, though a lucky few had gotten there early enough to have found seats. Still, there were notable absences: Bill Weasley had been called in to work; Remus Lupin was, because of the full moon, away; Severus Snape was back at Hogwarts; the Carrick twins were not present.  
  
"I'm glad you could all be here tonight," Albus Dumbledore began from his squashy armchair beside the kitchen fire. "This will not be a long meeting, but it is a necessary one." He paused for a moment, his bright blue eyes scanning the room and its occupants, before going on.  
  
"I think you'll all agree that we have set ourselves a goal that is proving difficult to accomplish with the resources we currently have." Dumbledore waited, received nods in response, and nodded. "Voldemort is becoming more active, and we are being spread far too thin. Many of our best assets inside the Ministry are working round the clock to apprehend the Death Eaters responsible for the attacks over the last few months." He nodded at Tonks and Shacklebolt, Arthur Weasley and Hestia Jones, and went on. "There are limits on what everyone can accomplish, given our need for secrecy. But every time we look around and take stock of the situation, there is another need pressing on us. Every time we take stock, we find ourselves stretched further. Too much further. So it's time for each of us to make a choice.  
  
"There are essentially two options open to us. One: we work on finding people to work with us, either inside or outside the Order of the Phoenix, so that we can keep working toward our current goals. Or two: we pare down our goals to the absolute essentials."  
  
Dumbledore fell silent, waiting for someone to speak.  
  
Shocking everyone, Fred and George spoke first. Standing by the window, leaning against the wall, they were easily a head taller than anyone around them, and George drew every eye when he began to speak. "Well, it seems that if we choose to pare things down to the absolute essentials, we're accepting the idea of necessary casualties," he said. This caused a rumble of dissent among the others in the room, but he held up a hand for silence.  
  
Fred continued. "If we pare things down to the absolute essentials, we won't be patrolling Hogsmeade during school weekends. We won't be keeping an eye on known Death Eaters. We'll be concentrating on what to do if we have a chance at Voldemort." He ignored the gasps and winces.  
  
George picked up the thread. "We won't know anything valuable about what they're doing until it's too late to stop most of it. That means that people will die. Worse, it means that people will die because we're too suspicious, or too full of our own importance, to give others a chance to help us."  
  
Fred nodded solemnly, his bright blue eyes bright with conviction. "We vote for letting other people in on this. There simply aren't enough of us to go round. And we're not going to get a great many more chances at stopping him- -not before he's so powerful that there's no stopping him at all."  
  
Charlie joined them near the window. "I vote for letting other people in. So does Bill--he talked to you, Albus, when he told you he couldn't come. But he asked me to make sure to make his viewpoint known. We all stand together," he said, leaning back against the wall next to the twins.  
  
"That's ridiculous," Hestia Jones snapped. "Saying that we're willing to let people die because we're too full of our own importance. The idea!" she huffed, glaring at the Weasley brothers.  
  
"Or because we're too suspicious of others," George pointed out mildly, putting a hand on Fred's arm to restrain his brother, who was all but trembling with the need to deliver a good put-down.  
  
"When you get right down to it, though," Tristan's deep voice asked, "does it really matter why it happens? If we refuse to let more people in, we will fail at our current goals. We know that. If, knowing that, we still refuse to let more in, we're as good as approving the idea that some people will have to die if Voldemort's going to be defeated. The particular reason we shut ourselves off isn't important. It's the fact that it gets done at all that will defeat us. I suppose it's obvious, but for the record, I'm with the Weasleys."  
  
Hestia Jones glared at all of them, then sniffed. "Well, if you haven't lived long enough to value your necks, I certainly have. I vote no more strangers. Look what happened last time round."  
  
"Last time round," Arthur Weasley pointed out mildly, "the traitor wasn't a stranger. He was a friend." He shook his head sadly at the memory, then looked at Dumbledore. "I'm with my boys. There's too much to do, and too many to protect. We need more allies. If more blood is spilled, it won't be for lack of our trying to prevent it." Molly nodded her agreement, and Dumbledore smiled at her.  
  
Tonks and Shacklebolt were deep in a whispered discussion, Charlie saw, which he thought didn't bode well for their siding with the Weasleys. Then Kingsley raised his head, and Charlie met Tonks' eyes. She gave him a quick wink, and he couldn't hold back his grin.  
  
"We're all for adding new allies. Not all of them members, necessarily, but allies we certainly need. We can't possibly get enough done as we are to make a real difference. And without our making a real difference, history will just repeat itself. People will be too frightened to make a stand, and he--Voldemort--will simply move in without any real opposition." Kingsley looked unusually solemn, his bald head and his gold earring gleaming in the candlelight.  
  
By contrast, Tonks looked almost obscenely sunny with her bright yellow hair and orange robes. "His best chance at taking over is to frighten people into agreeing with him, or ignoring him. And if we don't maximize our chances of preventing that, we're basically accepting defeat. So I'm with Kingsley and the others. We need more people." Straight off a twenty- four hour shift, she couldn't prevent her yawn. "But it would be really, really nice if we still had the Carricks around. We could use them, especially now that they're not with the department any longer," she said softly. Dumbledore smiled when she said it, and Tonks smiled back wearily.  
  
"That's an issue for another time," was Dumbledore's answer, and the finality with which he gave it effectively ended the small wave of protest Tonks' words had begun.  
  
Charlie looked at Tristan, who looked back at him silently but with well- hidden satisfaction. They had both noticed that the protest against Malcolm and Morrigan's involvement with the Order was significantly smaller than it had been only a month and a half ago.  
  
Around the kitchen, one person after another gave their opinion on the issue. The Weasleys certainly weren't alone in thinking that more help was needed, but neither was Hestia Jones in opposing the addition of anyone new. The count was closer to even than Charlie would have believed possible when he and Bill had discussed the issue the previous night. He wasn't looking forward to telling Bill the outcome of the vote. Bill had decided to stay away from the meeting, as he had every junior Order meeting since discovering the problem at Gringotts, on a better-safe-than-sorry theory. Charlie knew Bill would far rather have been here, trying to convince them all that they could never win without help.  
  
"None of what we do, Fidelius Charm notwithstanding, is without risk," Dumbledore said, after silence had settled over the kitchen. "None of us are guaranteed to survive this War. And none of us want to see anyone die-- not Order members, not innocent bystanders, not Muggles. No one." Dumbledore looked around the room, saw nods of agreement, and, satisfied, popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth. "In view of these facts, I want to put the question to you another way.  
  
"How dedicated are all of you to the work the Order is going? To the defeat of Voldemort?" Dumbledore asked, his blue eyes burning intensely behind his half-moon spectacles. "In other words, if I choose to add new Order members, or if I choose to set up a network of allies for the Order, how many of you will leave?"  
  
The silence that greeted this question was heavy and charged. No one seemed to want to be the first person to speak.  
  
"I'm sticking around," Fred said. The lack of defiance in his answer was enough to have his parents turning around to look at him. "I'm in for as long as it takes," he added simply.  
  
"I'm not leaving until he's gone or I am," George added without drama.  
  
"Bill and I are in. Until the end," Charlie said quietly.  
  
Molly Weasley's eyes filled with tears, and she smiled at her sons. "Arthur and I are in. We'll always fight against wizards like V...Vol... oh, hell, Voldemort. Against them, and against what they stand for." Arthur nodded, and his hand closed over his wife's.  
  
"We're in, the three of us," Tristan declared without drama, nodding to indicate Nicholas and Gwynne, who moved to stand beside him. "As are Remus and Severus." He spoke with the casual assurance of one who had discussed this matter at length with the people involved. Charlie had no doubt that, somehow, Tristan had managed to do just that.  
  
Minerva McGonagall, Filius Flitwick, Alastor Moody, Tonks, Shacklebolt, and a few others answered immediately that they were in the Order no matter what Dumbledore decided about new members. Dedalus Diggle, Mundungus Fletcher, Emmeline Vance, and Sinon Blunt were somewhat less quick to answer, but no less sincere about their intention to remain with the Order regardless of any new members that were recruited. The rest of the room remained uncomfortably silent.  
  
Dumbledore seemed unsurprised, and unruffled. "Then I have this suggestion to make," he told them all, though it was fairly clear that he was not suggesting as much as telling everyone the way it would be. "We will meet here again, in one week. One week is all that we can afford. Think about your answer carefully, because that is when I will require you to decide." He stood, cast a quick, proud glance at the Weasley brothers, and Disapparated from the room with a soft pop.  
  
*  
  
Harry spoke the password and dragged himself through the Portrait Hole at eleven that night. Mark followed him, his eyes half-closed. They'd spent three hours moving racks of potions and chopping ingredients and enduring no end of harassment from Professor Snape, and they were both worn out. Harry, walking upstairs, remembered that Morrigan had seemed to think Snape wasn't so bad. Just like Dumbledore thought that Snape wasn't so bad. After this detention, on top of two hours of Quidditch practice, Harry was beginning to think that they were both mad. Still worse, Harry thought, he had a Transfiguration essay to finish up before going to bed, and Mark had Potions homework to do. They found an empty table next to Ron and Neville, who were playing Wizard's Chess with one of Fred and George's new sets.  
  
"How bad was it? You look knackered," Ron said sympathetically, looking at Harry and Mark. From the table, one of Neville's pawns uttered an extremely rude comment on being taken by Ron's bishop, and Mark grinned at it.  
  
"Wasn't horrible, for Snape," Harry said after a moment's thought. "Move the racks, chop the ingredients, listen to more of the same old stuff we get in class. You know. Could have been worse. It could have been silver polishing with Filch."  
  
Ron nodded. "That would have been worse, all right."  
  
Neville laughed. "Just think, only last year we would have said that there couldn't be anything worse than detention with Snape."  
  
"That was before Umbridge," Harry said, and snorted with laughter. "But you're right. Even with Umbridge for a comparison, Snape would have been worse last year."  
  
Neville was looking closely at Mark, who was busily turning pages in his Potions book, completely oblivious. "You know, Harry, he looks just like one of the people in your parents' wedding photograph," Neville said. "The young one with the blond hair and the blue Muggle suit. Different eyes, though."  
  
Mark's head came up, and he stared at Neville. "That sounds like my Dad," he said, nodding emphatically. "He has a picture of his sister's wedding where he's wearing a blue suit." Then, as if the idea had only just struck him, he stared at Harry. "That would have been your Mum's wedding then," he said, sounding both amazed and thrilled.  
  
Harry grinned and nodded. "Sounds about right," he said. "I guess your Dad was a bit younger than my Mum then."  
  
"Five years," Mark agreed. "He was actually the son of a close friend of the family. His Dad died when he was a baby, and his Mum died in a car smash when he was about ten. He didn't have any other family, and the Evanses adopted him. He would have gone to an orphanage otherwise, I guess. Your Mum was already at Hogwarts then, and Aunt Petunia," Mark continued, his thin little face drawing up into a grimace, "had almost left school then." He shrugged. "From what Dad says, he and your Mum were pretty close from the start, but he and Petunia never got along worth beans."  
  
Harry snorted. "Sounds like a common story, really." Ron and Neville, going back to their game, grinned.  
  
He looked at Mark. Mark looked at him. They laughed, and got out their books to try and get their work for tomorrow done despite the late hour.  
  
An hour later, homework and chess game done, they all went upstairs to bed. There was no doubt in any of their minds that Mark Evans had become part of their group. What the older boys doubted was whether that could possibly do him anything but harm, things being what they were. 


End file.
